Profile
by Micky Fine
Summary: Brennan and Booth work with a profiler to catch a serial killer but when Brennan goes undercover, things get interesting. BB
1. Boredom

Disclaimer: They aren't mine, I'm making no profit from this, please don't sue!

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**Profile**

**Ch. 1 - Boredom**

Brennan sighed as she leaned back in her desk chair. It was eleven o'clock on a Tuesday morning and she felt bored. It was a relatively new sensation for Temperance, who had never had a problem occupying her mind before. But now, seated in her office on a warm day in May, she found herself wishing for something interesting to happen. Something that would break the tedium that had descended on her slightly less than a week previously. Realizing what had happened on that particular date, Brennan struggled to come up with an alternative explanation for her sudden onset of restlessness. But there was no escaping it. Whether Temperance liked it or not, she missed Booth.

She would never admit it, of course, especially to him. But she was forced to stare into the face of the realization that she missed the FBI agent, with his lack of scientific exactitude, his hunches, and his incomprehensible pop culture references. For a brief moment she considered the idea that perhaps she only missed the cases Booth brought her, but she quickly realized that she was not lacking work, and that she did in fact miss the agent's presence. Why she did was an entire other question that she veered away from answering. Facing up to that particular part of her psyche was not something she wished to do today.

Shaking her head gently in a physical attempt to clear her thoughts, Temperance turned her attention back to the x-rays she had been examining previous to her reverie. Absorbed by an intriguing anomaly in the left femur she reached for her magnifying glass and brushed her arm against her disposable cup of cold coffee. The half-full container tipped over, spilling its contents, which creeped over the desk until it reached the large stack of galleys she had set aside to examine later during the day. As the dark liquid began to seep into the paper, Brennan cursed softly and then jumped up; using tissues from the box she kept on her desk to soak up the beverage.

The immediate crisis averted, she picked up the affected galleys and examined the damage. As she flipped through the pages a small slip of paper fluttered out from between them and down to the floor. Trying to remember what could have possibly ended up between the pages of her latest proofs of her new novel, she bent down and picked up the scrap of paper. Flipping it over she read:

_In case of emergency only  
__Seeley Booth  
__555-2762_

So much for concentrating on her work. The small slip of paper only prodded her memory and caused her to reflect on her last encounter with her partner from the FBI.

* * *

It was the sound of shoes scuffing in the doorway of her office that caused Brennan to look up from her case file. Expecting to see Zach she was surprised to instead see Booth in khaki cargo pants and a white t-shirt. The scuffing was coming from the small dark-haired boy with large brown eyes dressed in jeans, a Spiderman t-shirt and a baseball cap that was standing next to the agent. She gave a small smile to Parker who was peering at her shyly.

"Booth. I wasn't expecting you today," she greeted.

Crouching down she put herself at eye level with the small boy.

"Hi Parker."

Parker nodded and gave her a small smile.

"Parker, do you remember Dr. Brennan?" Booth asked.

Parker nodded again and then spoke.

"Do you have lollipops?"

"I'm sorry?" Temperance answered.

"Whenever I go to the doctor with my mom, he has lollipops. Do you have any?"

Booth began to answer but Brennan waved him off, preferring to answer the child's questions herself.

"You know what, I ran out of lollipops. I think my assistant had the last one. But the next time you come to visit, I promise I'll have a lollipop for you."

The little boy beamed at her and turning his head up to address his father he said, "I like her."

Booth smiled at his son's brute honesty and exchanged a look with Brennan who had stood up again.

"I'm glad I've got the stamp of approval," she said with a smile.

Booth chuckled.

"So what brings you to the Jeffersonian on the first day of your vacation. I doubt Parker is interested in the exhibits."

"No, actually I came to drop this off for you," Booth answered, lifting up a blue folder.

"Not a new case?"

"No, the one we just finished up. I just forgot to get your signature on a few pages."

"Ah, well, if you'll just point out where I need to sign I'll let the two of you continue on whatever adventure you have planned."

"Daddy's taking me camping," interjected Parker.

Temperance smiled at the boy.

"That sounds like a lot of fun. How about you sit on my couch for a minute while I sign these papers?"

"Ok."

Booth gave her a long look she didn't understand as he followed her to her desk.

"What?"

"For a woman who insists she isn't any good with children, you get along with them very well."

Brennan shrugged and sat down in her desk chair, picking up a pen and taking the file Booth offered her. She attempted to ignore the small flutter in her stomach when Booth leaned over her shoulder to point out where he needed her signature. After completing what he needed from her, she leaned back in her chair.

"How long are you going to be gone camping?"

"Parker and I are going to spend a week in Prince William Forest Park in Virginia."

"That's a beautiful park. I frequently spend a weekend there during the summer. There's an impressively large population of beavers in the river considering its proximity to the urban areas. I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time. I assume you'll be unavailable during the next week then?"

"I am to the FBI."

Brennan cocked her head, giving Booth a questioning look. Booth returned her gaze, appearing to be searching for something in her expression. Apparently finding something in her face he continued speaking.

"I'm attempting to avoid all contact with the FBI, so I'm not taking my cell phone. I'm bringing a disposable cell instead in case Rebecca needs to contact me. But knowing your propensity for getting into trouble when I'm not around, I'd better leave the number here just in case."

"That's not true, I do not have a propensity for trouble."

"Need I remind you of New Orleans?"

"That happened while _I_ was on vacation."

"I wasn't there and you got into trouble."

"If you insist on viewing it that way…"

"I do."

Reaching past her, Booth pulled a sheet from the small pad of paper Brennan kept beside her phone and then scrawled the information on it. Placing the pen back in the mug where he had taken it from, he handed the paper to Brennan and then spontaneously gave her arm a light squeeze that could only be interpreted as a sign of camaraderie and farewell. Scooping up the folder from her desk, Booth approached his son, holding out his hand.

"Ready to go, buddy?"

"Yup!"

Smiling at his son Booth allowed the small child to pull him out of the office. Pausing in the doorway, he turned back.

"I'll see you in a week, Bones."

Brennan opened her mouth to complain about the name that had almost become a term of endearment but was interrupted by Parker calling out, "Bye Bones!"

Despite herself, she smiled at the boy's exuberance and waved a goodbye as Booth was towed out of her office.

* * *

"Hey Bren, what you up to?"

Startled at the sound of her name, Brennan looked up to see Angela in the doorway of her office.

"Oh, Angela, you surprised me."

"Sorry. What are you doing?"

"Not much. I should be studying the x-rays from this skeleton that we're supposed to get tomorrow, but I keep getting distracted. It must be this warm weather that's causing my inattention."

"Are you sure? Maybe it's the absence of a certain FBI agent."

"Don't be ridiculous, Angela," Brennan protested, feeling a light flush creep up her neck. Coughing, she attempted to change the subject.

"What are you doing?"

"Same as you. Let's face it, Bren, we're bored."

Leaning back with a sigh and closing her eyes, Brennan nodded her agreement.

Angela plopped down on the couch, and briefly thumbed through an anthropological journal that had been lying on the arm before looking up and spying something of interest through the window.

"Hey Bren?"

"Hmm?"

"Unless I'm very mistaken, I think things are about to get a whole lot more interesting."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because there's a man approaching you're office, and based on that suit I'd say he works for the FBI."

Brennan's eyes flew open and she evaluated the man approaching her office. Angela was right; he did look like an agent. She quickly removed the last signs of her spilled coffee and then attempted to look busy. Angela mirrored her and returned her attention to the journal. When the man rapped on the open door they looked up with feigned expressions of surprise.

"Dr. Temperance Brennan?" the man queried.

"That would be her," Angela replied pointing in Temperance's direction.

Approaching her desk with his hand proffered he greeted her, "Dr. Brennan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you," Brennan replied with a polite smile as she shook his hand. "Angela, would you mind giving us some privacy?"

"No, I'll be in my office. See you later."

Angela shot a look at Brennan as she exited as if to say, "Finally, some excitement!"

Gesturing for the man to sit down, Brennan did the same, while checking over his guest pass for the building. Booth had subliminally rubbed off on her and had given her a bit more suspicion when encountering new people. Noting that the pass was not falsified, she gave the man another small smile.

"What can I do for you, Mr…?"

"Actually, I'm an agent. Agent Mitchell Clark."

Brennan quirked an eyebrow and waited only a moment for the inevitable display of his badge. Casting a discerning eye over it, she quickly ascertained its authenticity, giving a quick nod of approval.

"Well then, what can I do for you Agent Clark?"

"I need your help on one of my cases for the FBI."

"I see. Typically, I work on FBI cases with Agent Booth. He's my partner."

"I'm aware of that, but I do have Deputy Director Cullen's permission to ask for your aid on this case."

"In that case, if the Deputy Director has given his permission I don't see a problem. So where's the body you need me to analyze?"

Clark gave her an indescribable look.

"Well, we have a small problem there. I don't exactly have a body for you just yet."

TBC

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Mitchell Clark is my own creation; if you want to use him, please ask. Prince William Forest Park is a real place._

_This is my first Bones fic so absolutely any type of review is welcome. Just press that little button and give me that motivation to churn out more chapters. Or at least give a prod to my muse. Whichever you prefer._


	2. Lie of Omission

Disclaimer: I don't own them I just like to play.

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**Ch. 2 – Lie of Omission**

"What do you mean that you don't have a body for me just yet?" Brennan asked, "Are the remains in transit?"

"No. When I said I don't have a body for you yet, it means that there isn't a body for you to examine at all," Mitchell Clark replied.

"Then what do you need me for?"

"Because there's _going_ to be remains for you to examine in the very near future."

"And you know this because you're clairvoyant?" Brennan asked incredulously.

"No, Dr. Brennan. I'm a step above clairvoyant, I'm a profiler."

"Oh," Brennan said softly, her eyes widening imperceptibly. She'd encountered only one profiler before when she had been working on a case with Booth. These individuals had an amazing ability to take seemingly unrelated elements of a crime scene and pinpoint what age, sex, psychological profile, and occupation of the perpetrator as well as determining his motive for committing the crime. She'd initially dismissed it as more psychobabble but had quickly learned just how accurate it all was. Booth had grudgingly used the profiler's aid in that previous case but had treated him with unjustified hostility. When she'd questioned Booth, he'd told her he'd had an unpleasant experience with another profiler who cared only about proving his theories correct no matter the peripheral damages and harm it brought to others.

"You seem suddenly wary of me, Dr. Brennan," Clark prodded.

Temperance mentally floundered for some excuse to explain her sudden mental wanderings but then decided on honesty.

"I am slightly, Agent Clark."

"Please, call me Mitch, Dr. Brennan," Clark interrupted.

Brennan nodded at his request and continued, "Agent Booth told me of a profiler he encountered once who was… reckless in his investigation."

"Well, I can assure you that Booth and I are old friends. We've known each other since training at Quantico."

Temperance considered this new data as she would new evidence in any of her investigations. Clark watched as the almost visible wheels in her head spun wildly. She blinked suddenly, signifying she had reached a decision.

"In that case, Age… Mitch, why don't you explain why you need a forensic anthropologist when you have no body for me to analyze."

"That's a wonderful idea, Dr. Brennan. I've been working on a serial murder case for four months now. Before you demand why I'm only asking for your services now, I had been working with another forensic anthropologist, Michael Stires, up until last week. Unfortunately, Dr. Stires was called away to a dig in Kenya and recommended that I consult you for the remainder of the case."

Brennan raised her eyebrows at the mention of Michael's name. She had avoided all contact with him since the Maggie Schilling case and was internally surprised that he had recommended her to continue his work on this case. She admitted to herself that she would not have done the same. Never mind the fact that Booth would never work with him in her stead.

"I see. I would imagine that you have Michael's case notes?"

Clark nodded and reaching into his briefcase, which she hadn't noticed before. He removed twelve case files of equal thickness and placed them in the center of her desk. Brennan reached for the top file and flipped through it. The most recent victim had been female, aged 23 and had been found in the hyenas' cage in the Central Park Zoo in New York City. She briefly surveyed Michael's notes, which were well organized and detailed. Nodding her approval she returned her attention back to Clark.

"Of those twelve cases, three were killed in Virginia, three more in Vermont, another three in New Jersey, and three last month in New York. Based on the pattern he's going to move on to D.C. next and there will be three more dead bodies. All of the victims were women, usually in their twenties although one was 32, all of them had red hair, and all of them were strippers or exotic dancers. According to the local medical examiners and Dr. Stire's examinations, the women were beaten, raped, and their throats were slashed. He then dumps the bodies in the cage of a scavenging animal, usually in a local zoo, although one body was dumped in a university lab's rat cage."

"So according to your profile, the murderer is going to continue this pattern here, in D.C.?"

"Yes. I'll alert you as soon as the next body is found. I just wanted to give you the files so that you could familiarize yourself with them. I look forward to working with you, Temperance."

Temperance looked up briefly from the file that she had re-opened and gave a small parting smile, not even registering that Clark had called her by her first name. She heard him reach the doorframe and called out quickly, "Agent Clark?"

Clark briefly considered re-iterating his request to be called Mitch but decided against it. Instead he simply answered, "Yes?"

"Where does he find his victims? Why does he choose these women in particular?"

"I don't know that yet. That's what I'm hoping you'll be able to help me figure out."

Brennan nodded, returning her attention to the file in her hands, completely ignoring his presence. He lingered briefly in the doorway, watching Brennan reading the notes, her brows furrowed in concentration. She twirled a piece of hair absentmindedly. Clark had to admit that she was an extremely attractive woman albeit very intense. He envied Booth for being able to work with her on a regular basis. Turning to walk out of the lab and ignoring the prying eyes of the nearby squints, he thought again of the alluring Dr. Brennan. That auburn hair was quite impressive.

* * *

Brennan was flummoxed. After almost two days of no contact, Clark had called thirty minutes previously and informed her that their first victim had appeared in the vulture cage in a local aviary. The body had not been sufficiently damaged to allow it to bypass the medical examiner's office. It would be sent there first and then Clark would have it brought to the Jeffersonian lab.

Brennan had given Zach the task of packing up the thirteenth century Australian aborigine they had been working on while she determined whether she had all of the necessary supplies. She had also apprised Hodgins and Angela that their services may be required in several hours. She was in the process of disinfecting her examination table when Booth entered at the far end of the lab.

Brennan didn't see him as he approached the raised area where the squints frequently examined bodies and performed various tests. Booth watched Temperance as she moved her hand in concentric circles, wiping the table clean, leaning over it to reach the far side. He'd spent seven wonderful days with his son but at odd moments during the day he'd found himself missing the brilliant, socially awkward forensic anthropologist. Not to mention conversation with Bones was never dull.

Climbing the stairs, the sound of his feet on the treads caused her to look up and she actually smiled widely in greeting.

"Booth."

"Bones."

She rolled her eyes at the name but made no comment.

"Enjoy your vacation?"

"I did. Did you miss me?"

"Mm-hmm," Bones muttered without thinking while she suddenly frowned, trying to remember where she had left her favorite pair of tweezers.

Booth started at the response, and then noticing the furrow between her brows he smiled. Apparently Bones was being a little more forthcoming than she would have been if her full attention had been given to him.

"What time did you find you missed me the most?"

"8:15."

Booth gave Brennan a curious look, which she encountered when she looked up from her clipboard.

"I'm sorry, you didn't just ask me what time it is did you?"

"No, Bones, I didn't," Booth momentarily considered asking his question again but decided against it and moved on instead. "What's got you so occupied?"

"Medical examiner's office is going to be sending a body here in a few hours and I want to be prepared for when it arrives."

"Since when did you start working with the medical examiner's office?"

"I haven't. But it does occasionally work with the FBI."

"Bones, do we have to go over this again? You are my partner but you are not a member of the FBI. I'm the one with the badge, remember?"

"Believe it or not, Booth, I do understand that."

"Good. That's good."

Brennan nodded her agreement and turned her attention back to her clipboard.

"So why is the medical examiner's office sending you a body? I've barely been back and I wasn't given a case that requires your help."

"That's good, because I'm going to be very busy in the near future. Based on Michael's notes, this case is going to be very intense."

"What case? And Michael, as in _Michael Stires,_ Michael? You're working a case with that creep?"

"No, Michael is no longer on the case. He was the previous forensic anthropologist. And the case is for the FBI. I thought Cullen would have apprised you of the situation."

Brennan returned half her attention to her clipboard and used the other half to keep up her end of the conversation with Booth.

"No, I'm pretty sure he forgot to tell me about you having your own, independent case."

"Oh, I'm not working on this on my own. I was requested by an agent."

Booth's eyes narrowed.

"What agent?"

Before Brennan could reply they were interrupted by the sound of new feet on the stairs. Booth turned and after recognizing the familiar face and smirk felt equal parts anger, alarm, and surprise well up within him.

"Clark," he spit out.

"Agent Booth. Wonderful to see you again."

Booth fumed at Clark's faked innocent air. The son of a bitch.

"Oh yes, I'd forgotten Clark had said you were friends from Quantico," Brennan supplied distractedly.

"Friends!" Booth repeated incredulously.

"Well," Clark replied, "we started out that way."

Brennan looked up and shot a curious glance at Booth as she suddenly noticed the palpable tension in the air. Something was going on here that she had a feeling would affect the rest of the investigation.

"Booth, did Agent Clark lie to me about your previous relationship?"

Clark interrupted before Booth he could reply.

"I did not lie, I merely omitted some facts."

Booth snorted derisively and then turned to face Brennan, deliberately omitting Clark from his line of vision.

"Do you remember that profiler with no regard for anyone or anything besides his puzzle I told you about a while back?"

Brennan's gaze almost imperceptibly shifted between Booth and Clark. There was a, subliminal struggle for domination going on between the two and she was intrigued to see who would win. Realizing that Booth was waiting for her input, she nodded to acknowledge her remembrance of the conversation.

Booth made a wide gesture with his hands and said, "May I introduce Agent Mitchell Clark."

Brennan's eyes widened and she turned an accusatory glance at Clark.

"You did lie to me."

Clark sighed, "Fine, I did lie about my previous relationship with Booth, but I wasn't lying about needing your help on this case. You're one of the best forensic anthropologists in the world. Besides, you've seen what's happened to the previous victims, don't you want to help prevent it happening to more women?"

Brennan felt conflicted. If Booth was correct about this man, she wasn't sure she wanted to be a part of his method of investigation. But after spending the past two days immersing herself in the case files of the previous twelve victims, she felt compelled to help. She was just opening her mouth to give her reply, when Booth interrupted her.

"Oh no you don't. You're not going to guilt her into working this case."

"Booth, stop. I want to work this case. If I can prevent this happening to more women, I will," Brennan interceded.

Booth growled, realizing that Brennan was perfectly valid in her desire to aid the investigation.

"Fine. But if you work the case, I'm going to work it too."

"Booth," Clark protested, "I don't need you."

"You may not but Bones does, if for nothing else than making sure someone's looking out for her."

Brennan considered protesting that she did not need anyone to protect her but seeing the mood Booth was in decided the ensuing argument would not turn out in her favor.

"Dr. Brennan is perfectly safe while working with me," Clark protested.

"Like Kate Mahoney was safe with you?" Booth queried. Clark's face fell not in remorse but in defeat and it was evident from Booth's raised eyebrows that he had won this round. Suddenly, Clark's visage changed as came up with a new tack to try.

"Cullen approved my working with Dr. Brennan," he stated with a sly look, but Booth was unperturbed.

"That's fine. What time is the body due to arrive?" Booth demanded of Brennan.

"Two hours. Three at the most."

"Great. We'll leave Dr. Brennan to preparing for the arrival of the latest victim," Booth stated. "Meanwhile, Clark and I will go have a quick meeting with Deputy Director Cullen to define the roles each of us will play in this investigation. Is that satisfactory for you, Dr. Brennan?"

Temperance nodded her assent; surprised by the sudden formality Booth had used in addressing her. It must have been the result of his pent up anger towards Clark, she decided.

Booth tapped his hand on the desk after Brennan's approval and then gestured to Clark with the other, "After you Agent Clark."

Clark descended the stairs and Booth made to follow but then turned around.

"This is why I gave you my cell number," he said quietly.

"I didn't know an FBI profiler qualified as an emergency," Brennan replied.

"It does when it's Clark," Booth said as he headed down the stairs. He called out over his shoulder, "I'll be back soon, Bones."

Brennan watched as the two men exited the lab, both sets of shoulders equally tense. Hearing the rustling of clothing behind her, she turned to encounter Angela, Hodgins, and Zach who had apparently been eavesdropping on most of the conversation.

"I'd scold all of you on not listening to discussions you have nothing to do with, but I have a feeling the lecture would be lost on all of you."

Angela and Hodgins gave her defiant grins while Zach merely flushed and turned towards his microscope. Angela sauntered over.

"I told you Clark was going to start some excitement around here."

"Yes, Angela, you did, but I'm not entirely sure I want to deal with two competing FBI agents while trying to solve a serial murder case," Brennan said dryly.

Angela shrugged, and then turned back to watch the two men as they left the building.

"What I wouldn't give to be one of Hodgins bugs so that I could hang out on a wall during that meeting," she sighed.

TBC

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_Did you like it? Did you hate it? Want to see something improved? Want to make a plot suggestion? To do any or all of these things you have to push that little button right there and send me a review. They make my muse ever so happy. And if she really likes them she puts them on her wall of fame. Want to be on the wall? You know what to do._


	3. Previous Experience

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. They were all very lovely and all the suggestions were greatly appreciated. Plus, it made my muse feel far more productive so I hope you enjoy the following.

Disclaimer: I hate repeating myself but I don't own them. I do like to play with them.

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**Ch. 3 - Previous Experience**

Deputy Director Cullen sipped his coffee and then grimaced. He really needed to speak to his assistant about the coffee grounds to water ratio. It was unbearably weak and she had apparently decided to make up for it by adding more cream and sugar than any normal human being could safely consume. If he kept drinking this stuff his cardiologist and dentist would be singing his praises all the way to the bank. He considered walking down to the coffee cart just down the street but decided against it. He had a light appointment schedule for the morning and could get away without his normal caffeine fix.

He began flipping through the paperwork on his desk but looked up at the forceful knocking on his door. The frowning face of Agent Seeley Booth greeted him and just behind the glowering agent he caught a glimpse of Mitchell Clark. He sighed. He should have gone to get that coffee after all.

"C'mon in Booth. Nice to see you again Clark," he greeted both men. He gestured for them to sit but only Clark did. Booth, instead, closed the door with slightly more force than necessary and began to pace. Cullen muffled a groan. Pacing was definitely not a good sign. Before the deputy director could utter more pleasantries, Booth exploded.

"Sir, Clark is trying to poach my partner!"

Clark turned around.

"Poach? Booth, need I remind you that she's not an endangered species. Besides, I don't want to work with her permanently, I just need her help on this one case. After that any interactions between the doctor and myself will be purely… personal," he finished with a leering smile.

Booth scoffed, "Dream on, Clark. You lied to her. She'd never consider a relationship with you in a million years."

"Don't be so sure, Booth. I can be quite charming when I want to be and I'm certain I could make Dr. Brennan forget all of my previous transgressions after a few hours alone," Clark said with his eyebrows raised suggestively.

Booth's fists clenched and unclenched, "What I wouldn't do to you if you weren't an agent…"

Cullen interrupted, hoping to prevent bloodstains on his new rug, "Gentlemen! Need I remind you that I am the deputy director of the FBI and not a relationship counselor? I would appreciate it if we could refrain from discussing the likelihood of Clark getting his foot in the door with Dr. Brennan. Now, Booth, what do you mean Clark's trying to poach your partner?"

"Just that. He waltzes in while I'm away on vacation, gets Bone… Dr. Brennan immersed in the cases of the previous victims to the point where she can't refuse participating in the investigation, and then tries to prevent me from working the same case as my _partner_," Booth replied, although the emphasis on the last word was clearly aimed at Clark.

Cullen frowned at Booth's reply and turned his attention to Clark.

"I didn't say you could involve Dr. Brennan in the investigation, Clark. I distinctly remember saying that you could consult her only if you desperately needed her input."

"Did you, sir? That must have slipped my mind," Clark answered with mock innocence.

Cullen began counting to ten. If Clark weren't such a brilliant profiler he'd have kicked him out of the bureau years ago. Instead, he was forced to tolerate the agent's grating manners, hostility to authority, and inability to follow orders. The deputy director exhaled loudly and returned his attention to Booth.

"She's in too far to pull her out now, I suppose?" he asked.

"Unfortunately, sir," Booth shrugged.

"Well then, Agent Booth, I am assigning you to Agent Clark's investigation. You will work in conjunction with him and assure Dr. Brennan's safety while she works with Clark," Cullen stated.

"Sir, I must object," Clark interrupted, "Dr. Brennan is in no danger while working with me."

"Clark, don't even bother. Everyone in the bureau knows what happened to Kate Mahoney. If you think we're going to let you work alone with a civilian consultant then you're stupider than we give you credit for," Cullen said dryly.

Clark made a face of annoyance and Cullen resumed his speech.

"Neither of you have seniority over the other. If you reach an impasse you will consult me and I will make the final decision. Whenever Dr. Brennan is in the field, Agent Booth must also be present. If at any point either the doctor or Booth feels that she is being unnecessarily endangered, I will have her pulled off the case. Do you understand what I've said?"

Both men nodded.

"Do either of you have any questions?"

Both shook their heads in a negative response.

"Very well. I have paperwork to do so I'd appreciate it if you'd get out of my office now."

Clark lazily got up and sauntered out. Booth lingered for a moment and his gaze connected with Culllen's, his eyes emitting a silent thank you. Then he followed Clark out of the room and down the hall.

Cullen rubbed his temple. He definitely did not envy Dr. Brennan having to work with the two men. Taking another sip of his coffee he winced.

"Alice," he called out, "we need to discuss your coffee."

* * *

Brennan barely registered the beep emitted from the post at the base of the platform stairs when Booth swiped his card. She was utterly absorbed in studying the remains before her. There were still large hunks of flesh hanging on the bones lying on her examination table. After she finished her preliminary exam and collected all the necessary evidence she would have to soak the body in sodium hydroxide to clean the bones.

Booth climbed the stairs and stood at the edge of the platform waiting for her to recognize his presence. He watched her as she studied the body from several angles, her blue lab coat billowing slightly as she knelt to be at eye level with the corpse. He found himself torn when trying to decide whether she was more attractive when she was so utterly focused or when she gave him that magical smile that made her eyes light up. Shaking his head, he turned his mind back to the matter at hand. Such musings were better suited for when he was alone in his apartment. He called out her name but received no response. Approaching her from behind he waved his hand in front of her face.

"Hello? Bones?"

She jumped and then turned to face him, swallowing the butterflies that began to flutter in the pit of her stomach when she noted Booth's proximity.

"Booth. You startled me."

"Sorry, I said your name before but you were deep into it."

Brennan nodded and then frowned.

"Where's Agent Clark? You didn't do anything illegal to him, did you?"

"Bones, you know me better than that."

"I do but Angela says that hyperbole is frequently used in casual conversation as a humorous segue into more serious conversation."

Booth swallowed a grin at Brennan's analysis and attempted to give her a straight face.

"More serious conversation, huh? What's up, Bones?"

"I am merely concerned that a previous conflict between yourself and Agent Clark will have undue influence on this investigation. I don't want to have to deal with two grown men bickering about who's in control or who has the rightful claim on me. I belong to neither you nor Agent Clark. Nor the FBI for that matter."

"I've got you covered, Bones. I've already declared a truce of sorts with Clark. Our priority is solving this case so that Clark can go away and we can go back to solving our own cases."

Brennan nodded her appreciation, "Well then, where is Agent Clark?"

"I left him in the middle of Dupont Circle."

Brennan's eyes widened, "What?"

"I'm kidding, Bones. He's at the front desk getting one of these swipe-card things so that he can get up on the platform without setting off all of those great alarms you've got hooked up. Then he was going to call the medical examiner's office and try and convince them to release their findings ASAP."

"Ah, I see," Brennan replied and then immediately dismissed him in favor of the remains on her table. Booth watched her but feeling less business-like thoughts begin to creep back into his mind he spoke again.

"What have you got so far?"

She looked up quickly and then returned her attention to the leg bone she was probing, "Shouldn't we wait for Clark?"

"He's bright, he'll catch up."

Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him but made no other comment and instead started listing her observations.

"Female, twenty to twenty-four years of age. She was severely beaten before she was killed. Based on the abrasions of her wrists and the clean breaks there, I think she was bound in handcuffs. The nature of the breaks in both wrists indicates to me that she was suspended with her arms behind her head. The additional fact that both of her shoulders were dislocated supports my hypothesis. She was in excruciating pain before she died. I'll be able to tell you more about her injuries after we get the x-rays back."

Booth tried to shake the image of this poor young woman being hung from her wrists while her shoulder joints slowly pulled apart. He turned quickly from studying what was left of the victim's face to Brennan, and for a moment the one image was superimposed over the other, frightening him far more than he'd like to admit.

Returning back to the matter at hand, he asked the ultimate question, "What was the cause of death?"

Brennan frowned at the corpse, analyzing the data, and then answered, "I'd wait for the medical examiner's report but based on what I see, I'd say cause of death was exsanguination."

"Very good, Dr. Brennan," a new voice interjected, "that's exactly what the medical examiner ruled. He also informed me that she was sexually assaulted, most likely before she was beaten."

Booth turned and frowned at Clark who was now standing at the top of the stairs. He was annoyed that his former roommate at Quantico, whom he'd informed years ago that he never wanted to see again unless it was in a casket, could just waltz in, try to steal his partner, and throw off the rhythm that he and Bones had established. Before he could snarl at Clark for interrupting when he was unwanted, Brennan spoke first.

"Glad that you could join us, Agent Clark. I was just apprising Booth of my findings so far."

"Pray continue, Dr. Brennan," Clark said, inclining his head.

The way Bones quirked her eyebrow at Clark as if he were an abnormal specimen forced Booth to smother a laugh. Maybe having to work with Clark wouldn't be so awful after all.

"As I was saying," Brennan continued, "she was in excruciating pain due to her dislocated shoulder joints and broken wrists. She also has a compound fracture of the left femur but based on the lack of bleeding in the area it was most likely post-mortem. It's consistent with being dropped from a height of maybe two or three meters."

Booth's mind began to work through the possibilities, "So he abducts her, rapes her, beats the living daylights out of her, slits her throat, waits for her to bleed out, and then dumps her body in with a bunch of vultures so that it's more difficult to identify her. There's no way he's doing this in a residential area unless he's giving them heavy-duty drugs to keep them quiet. But that doesn't feel right, I think this freak enjoys hearing them scream."

"Based on the evidence you're right, Booth," Clark stated. "The tox screen the M.E. came back clean. The FBI forensics team is running her prints but they aren't having much luck. She may not be in the system."

Booth nodded, "Bones can probably find out who she is from her dental records. So where do you think he takes them? A deserted warehouse maybe?"

Clark nodded, "That's a likely place. It also would provide the equipment necessary to hang the victim at the height Dr. Brennan indicated."

"Something doesn't add up," Brennan suddenly stated.

Booth and Clark both turned to stare at her in surprise. Booth almost argued that that was his line but instead seemed to go along with Bones' sudden discovery of her intuition.

"What do you mean, Bones?"

"Well, this is only an extrapolation based on previous experience but if she were a stripper she would know how to defend herself. She would have fought back and she would have been trained to do so effectively," Brennan said, and then turning towards the railing that enclosed the raise platform, she called out, "Zach!"

Booth was startled when a voice immediately below him called back, "Yes Dr. Brennan?"

Booth cocked his head to look over the edge of the platform and spied Angela, Hodgins, and Zach in a suspicious cluster, close enough to hear everything that was happening between himself, Clark, and Bones. He frowned at them but then had to smile when Angela shot him an innocent look. The squints were the best eavesdroppers on the east coast and he had a feeling they heard more than the average FBI wiretap.

"Can you come give me a hand please?" Brennan called, apparently unsurprised that her colleagues were within hearing range.

Zach bounded up the stairs and stood at the edge of the examination table expectantly. Brennan handed him a large, needle-like tool that made Booth glad he was living, breathing and not lying on the table.

"I want you to take muscle biopsies from each of her limbs and then test for anything unusual."

"Unusual, Dr. Brennan? What do you mean by unusual?"

"Something that isn't supposed to be there."

Zach nodded and turned to his task. Brennan watched for a moment and then stripped off her latex gloves.

"Gentlemen, let's retire to my office. We'll be ensured of total privacy there."

Booth chuckled at the two frustrated sighs he heard from the squints standing below him and then followed Brennan off the platform in the direction of her office, Clark trailing behind them.

Once seated in her office with the sliding door shut securely, Booth couldn't resist the urge to tease Brennan.

"You know Bones, if I didn't know you better, I'd say this whole biopsy thing is a hunch."

Brennan frowned at him and retorted, "I told you, I'm extrapolating based on previous experience."

Booth exchanged a look with Clark and then asked, "What does that mean, 'previous experience'? You weren't a stripper at some point, were you Bones?"

Brennan's face smoothed out and she gave Booth a sly grin.

"Not exactly."

TBC

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_Oh look at that! I'm just so mean leaving you hanging. Want to complain about it? Or perhaps bribe me with tasty sweets so that I'll write more soon? Hit that tiny button and let me know what you think. My muse adores it when you do._


	4. Hands Off

Your reviews are truly awesome, my muse and I enjoy every single one. To answer some of the questions posed: (1) the double entendre about Dupont Circle was entirely untended although it did make me laugh when I found out and (2) don't worry there will be more details about Kate Mahoney down the road.

Disclaimer: Absolutely anything you recognize is most likely not mine; I just like playing with other people's toys.

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**Ch. 4 – Hands Off**

Booth frowned at the forensic anthropologist on the other side of the desk who was giving him a Cheshire cat grin.

"What does 'not exactly' mean?"

Brennan opened her mouth to answer but was interrupted by a loud rapping on the glass door of her office and both agents turned when they heard the door slide open.

"Dr. Brennan?" Zach called hesitantly, regarding the two frowning men in his boss' office with trepidation.

"Yes, Zach?"

"We've found a few things that you should come look at. I suppose Agent Booth and Agent Clark should join you," Zach answered.

"Thanks for extending the invitation, Zach," Clark shot back and turned back to face Brennan, finding himself the subject of a death glare.

"Please treat my assistant with respect in the future, Agent Clark," Brennan said coldly and then got up from behind her desk and walked out into the hall.

Booth joined her, practically glued to her side.

"Bones, you didn't answer my question," he prodded.

"Imagine that," she shot back sarcastically.

"C'mon, you're killing me here. What does 'not exactly' mean?"

"You can ease your mind, Booth. I was never a professional stripper. I just lived with one."

"You what?"

"My roommate in college had a problem making ends meet for a few years so she earned some good money working as a stripper."

"How good is good money?"

"She's a neurosurgeon now and has no student loans to repay if that helps answer your question."

"I definitely have the wrong career," Booth muttered, causing Brennan to grin.

Booth frowned again, "You said professional."

"Sorry?"

"You said you were never a professional stripper. Does that mean you were like an amateur, or what?"

"Not exactly," Bones replied coyly as she turned a corner and entered the larger lab area, making a beeline for the raised platform in the center.

"There's my favorite phrase again," Booth said with a sigh.

"Well, Nicole, my roommate, taught me many of her techniques. It's quite an effective method of seduction and foreplay," Brennan stated in manner-of-fact tone, completely oblivious to the sudden flush creeping across her partner's face.

Coughing, Booth cast about for a new topic of conversation that could put a stop to the torrent of inappropriate thoughts and images of his partner slowly removing her clothes.

"You're seduction techniques aside, Bones, why is it that you have a problem with my ordering a prostitute from your cell phone but you've lived with a prostitute?"

Brennan shook her head, swiped her ID card at the base of the stairs to the forensics platform and stood two steps above Booth, waiting for him to do the same. After he did so, she continued their conversation as she stood at the edge of the platform waiting for her team to coordinate their presentation.

"The stigma against nudity is only present in homo sapiens. We are educated to believe that walking around naked is not socially acceptable and find nudity, except in certain situations, highly shameful. A woman, or a man for that matter, removing their clothing for the entertainment of the opposite species, in most cases, while potentially degrading is in no way a reason for ostracizing an individual."

"Based on that lecture I'm surprised that you don't wander around naked more often," Booth said with a teasing grin.

"You have no idea what I do in the privacy of my own home," Brennan retorted with a mischievous smile that widened when Booth, Clark, Hodgins, and Zach all turned to stare at her in surprise.

"Seriously, Bones?" Booth queried, his mind going millions of places that it definitely should not have been.

"No, Booth, I'm not an exhibitionist. Although there were the three weeks I spent naked in the Amazon jungle," she said, almost as an afterthought. Booth turned a questioning gaze at Angela who was seated on a stool in the opposite corner. She shrugged to indicate she knew nothing about it but he noted out of the corner of his eye that Hodgins was wearing a wide grin.

"Why were you naked for three weeks?" Booth asked, unsure if he actually wanted an answer.

Brennan provided one anyway, "It was just after I'd finished my undergraduate work. A pharmaceutical company paid me to spend three weeks with an isolated tribe in the Amazon who, although they lived in an area that had a large population of malarial mosquitoes, were apparently immune to malaria. The company had sent down three medical researchers previous to my departure who had all contracted the parasite and were forced to leave. So, I spent three weeks with the tribe, eating what they did, living as they did, and wearing what they did. Which in that case was nothing. Actually that's not quite true. I was coated in mud from head to toe. It turned out the mud they bathed in had a unique repellent ability. The company is still analyzing the mud and its compounds in an effort to produce a repellent for general consumption."

Booth quirked an eyebrow, still stuck on the all-important fact, "You spent three weeks naked in the Amazon jungle wearing only mud? No grass skirt, no coconut bra?"

"I don't know what that means," Brennan replied with her patented confused look.

"Are there pictures from this study?" Booth asked.

Hodgins emitted an enthusiastic, "Oh yeah!"

Brennan frowned at her colleague and then turned to glare at Booth who was giving her an impertinent grin. Her next speech was averted when Clark suddenly chimed in.

"As intriguing as the idea of the photographic evidence documenting Dr. Brennan's being nude for three weeks, need I remind everyone that we are investigating a serial murder. And one of you squints said you had new, important evidence."

Zach cleared his throat, "That was me. We found something interesting in the effects the M.E.'s office sent over."

"What?" Clark demanded.

"This," Zach replied, holding up what was possibly a piece of paper coated in vulture feces with a pair of tweezers.

"A piece of paper covered in shit? That looks immensely helpful," Clark snarled.

"Shut up, Clark," Booth shot back, "They haven't done their magic just yet." He turned back to Zach who was now standing next to Hodgins who had a large basin of clear liquid lying before them. "Tell me you're going to work some magic," he pleaded.

"Magic is my middle name," Hodgins replied as he took the scrap of paper from Zach. Everyone crowded around him as he submerged it in the liquid and the feces began to wash away. Brennan pulled over a magnifying lamp as the white paper was slowly cleaned, revealing the small font, typical of a business card.

"Peek-A-Boo, In-Home Entertainment Services," she read aloud.

* * *

Booth surveyed the comfortable lounge area of the Peek-A-Boo office. It was definitely not what he would have expected for a company that hired out strippers. The floor was covered in a fawn-colored carpet with a dark green, overstuffed couch and two chairs situated in one corner next to a large window. Close to the entrance was a large, mahogany desk where a friendly, modestly dressed receptionist sat, her nails clacking in a rhythmic pattern on the keyboard in front of her. He eyed Brennan, seated beside him, who was casually flipping through an anthropology journal she had brought along in her bag. Clark was seated in a chair opposite them, cracking each of his finger joints individually in a manner clearly meant to irritate. Booth swallowed his urge to duct-tape oven mitts to Clark's hands and was prevented from a violent outburst of annoyance when the door to his left opened, revealing a tall, professionally dressed woman, her dark hair swept up in a sophisticated coif.

Turning to address them with a brilliant smile, she said in a mild Southern accent, "You must be the investigators from the FBI. I'm Madeleine Brightman. Why don't you come into my office?"

Booth, Brennan, and Clark filed into the adjacent room. After brief introductions, Clark initiated the interview.

"Ms. Brightman, unfortunately, we believe that one of your employees has fallen prey to a serial killer who preys on strippers," he stated, far blunter than Brennan ever could have been.

"Smooth," Booth muttered under his breath and then turning a polite smile on Brightman and began to speak, "I apologize for my associate. His manners are a little rusty. What he should have said was thank you for meeting with us today. I'd like to ask you a few questions about your business before we discuss our case."

Brennan noted Clark's sour face as Booth earned a smile from the attractive woman behind the desk and turned her attention back to the questions her partner was asking.

"You obviously have the proper business licenses. How long have you been providing," Booth coughed in mild embarrassment, "your in-home entertainment services?"

"Peek-A-Boo has been in operation for almost two years. We have a good reputation. At several different levels," Brightman replied with an ironic smile.

"And how many employees do you currently have working for you, Ms. Brightman?" Booth asked politely.

"It varies a bit, but typically I have about thirty women and fifteen men in my employ," the executive answered.

"Have any of your female employees gone off your radar…" Booth trailed off, shooting Brennan a questioning glance.

"In the past week," Bones supplied.

"I don't know," Brightman answered regretfully.

"How can you not know?" Clark demanded incredulously.

Brightman frowned at the harshness of the agent's question but gave her answer to the more sympathetic face of Brennan, "Most of the women that work for me aren't exactly thrilled about this job. It's not exactly something you list on your resume, you know?"

Brennan nodded her agreement as Brightman continued.

"Well, typically my employees will work for me up until they've earned the money they need. Then they leave, frequently without notice, so it's not unusual for someone to just disappear off my radar, as you put it. Sometimes they'll come back if money gets tight. I don't hold it against any of them, it's what I did for five years when I was going to business school."

Booth shot a glare at Clark before he could stick his foot even further into his mouth, and turned back to the honest and friendly businesswoman who apparently had no qualms about her operation or her past history. He opened his mouth to ask another question but was interrupted by a ringing cell phone. Brennan pulled the shrilling item from her bag and turning an apologetic look to Booth and Brightman, exited the room. Booth heard her voice faintly as she closed the door answering, "Brennan."

"Sorry," Booth apologized to Brightman, "her assistant gets anxious when she leaves the lab for huge chunks of time."

Brightman smiled.

"I hate to generalize," Booth began, "but I find that women taking their clothes off tends to cause men to want more than just watch them."

"We provide against that, Agent Booth," Brightman answered, "with our strict no touching policy. My employees are authorized to end any performance without penalties if they have been touched inappropriately or feel that the client or clients are threatening to them in any way. Not to mention almost all of my employees are well-trained in self-defense."

Booth exchanged a look with Clark. Bones had been right.

"I wanted to ask," he continued, "where do you typically send your employees to perform?"

"Oh, you know, birthday parties, bachelor parties, bachelorette parties, occasionally we get requests from foreign dignitaries. Lately though, it's mostly been frat houses. With the school year coming to an end the fraternities throw end-of-classes parties, end-of-exams parties, going away parties, and parties with no real purpose other than as an excuse to get a stripper."

"So you've been busy lately then?"

"I had twenty-five girls working last night alone," Brightman provided by way of an answer.

"Was one of the women working for you Carrie Matthews?" Brennan asked from where she had just re-entered the office, her voice causing Clark to jump while Booth merely arched an eyebrow in her direction, his highly trained senses having recognized her presence as soon as she had entered the room. After spending so much time with her, he was positive he could pick her out at three hundred feet based on her scent alone. Never mind the fact that he seemed to be magnetically drawn to her presence whenever she was near. Meanwhile, Brightman's eyes widened with sadness at the familiar name.

"Carrie? The body you found was Carrie?" she asked tremulously.

Booth watched with mild surprise as compassion crossed Brennan's face. Apparently, she'd discovered that utter detachment when working with the living was not effective as the display of some emotion.

"I'm afraid that it was Carrie Matthews' body that we found. My assistant just called to inform me that the dental records matched," Brennan said gently.

Brightman's body went slack with shock and then she attempted to gather her composure.

"I'm sorry. It's just so awful. Carrie was only twenty and she was so wonderful, so full of life. She'd only been working here a month. She wanted to earn some extra money so that she could fly to her brother's wedding in the Philippines three months from now. I can't believe she's gone," Brightman spilled out in a faint voice.

"Where was her last job?" Booth asked softly.

Brightman opened a drawer in her desk, pulling out a black folder. Flipping through it she arrived at the correct page and ran her finger down it, stabbing it with emphasis when she found the required information.

"The Delta Phi Epsilon house near the Georgetown campus," Brightman answered, looking weary.

"One more question and then we'll leave you in peace," Booth pushed on gently. "Do you have a photograph of Ms. Matthews?"

Brightman nodded, pulling out another folder from the same drawer. She removed a single photograph and handed it to Booth. Carrie smiled up at him widely, her green eyes sparkling, her straight, red hair cut short to frame her young face. He avoided the thought that she vaguely resembled a younger Brennan.

"Thank you," Booth said, getting up while Clark quickly charged out of the room. Booth lingered in the entranceway as Brennan stood up and picked up her bag. He heard her murmur softly to Madeleine Brightman and the woman behind the desk gave the forensic anthropologist an appreciative glance. With that, Brennan turned and walked out. Something in her eyes told Booth that questions would not be appreciated so he merely rested a hand on the small of her back, an unspoken sign of support. Surprisingly, she didn't shrug it away as he lead her out of the building.

_

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You lucked out. No cliffhanger this time around. I know this chapter wasn't so thrilling but I needed to get this information out of the way so that I can get to more interesting stuff. I promise the next chapter will be more exciting. But what did you think of this chapter? Think my muse needs to brush up on her inspiration skills? Loved it? Hated it? Suggestions? Push that little button and let me know._


	5. Xrays and Case Files

Once again, I'm sending out a gigantic thank you to everyone who reviewed. I'm a total review junkie, plus all of those comments really spur me to write more.

Disclaimer: Basically anything you recognize isn't mine. I'm just borrowing them. I'll put them back where I found them, I promise.

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**Ch. 5 – X-rays and Case Files**

Booth checked his mirrors as he turned out of the parking lot and maneuvered his behemoth SUV into the stream of traffic. At this time of day it was going to take them at least an hour to get back to the lab. He pulled to a stop behind a two-door coup with the top down. Resting his left arm on the top of the steering wheel he glanced at Brennan seated next to him. She had just added the photo of Carrie Matthews to the rest of the file that she had stowed away in her bag. He returned his attention to the traffic when an obnoxious kid, in a car that he obviously hadn't paid for, honked. Once he had stopped at a red light, Booth again glanced at his partner. She was still staring at the photograph of the young, smiling woman.

She hadn't noticed it before, but as she slipped the paperclip over the corner of the photo, the resemblance of Carrie Matthews to herself, caught Brennan's attention. Maybe it was just the photograph attached to a file that reminded her of hours spent in a social worker's office while he split his attention between her and the never-ending ringing of the phone. Maybe it was the innocence in her smile that Brennan only found in photographs of herself before her parents had disappeared. Either way, the similarities struck her and she again found herself sympathizing with the unfortunate girl, the victim of a senseless crime. She hadn't noticed the length of time she'd spent gazing at the photograph until Booth reached over and gently shut the folder. She looked up in surprise, a protest on her lips when she caught the concerned look in his eyes. Realizing that he had done it in what he thought was her own best interest she didn't speak and instead gave him a gentle smile. He smiled in return, their gazes suddenly locking in a gaze that changed from mutual friendship to a look that expressed something more, something Brennan couldn't identify. A cough from Clark in the backseat broke the intimacy of the moment and Booth turned his eyes back to the road.

"So, where are we going now?" Brennan asked, attempting to swallow the emotions that had risen into her throat while gazing at Booth. "To the frat house?"

"No," Clark said shortly, "there's no point going there yet."

"No point?" Booth queried as he changed lanes. "I don't think there's absolutely no point. They could help us figure out exactly when she disappeared, whether anyone saw anything."

"I doubt anyone saw anything, our killer's too smart for that. Besides, he's well practiced by now," Clark said, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

"You better than anyone should know that a repeated act without being caught leads to sloppiness," Brennan interjected. "Besides maybe our killer is a member of the fraternity."

Clark barked a brief laugh and then spoke again, "Our murderer a frat boy? Dr. Brennan you have no idea how funny that is. Even your average male college student isn't even close to this killer's profile."

"Well, what is the profile?" Brennan asked. "After working this case for almost a week now, you still haven't told me what kind of person we're looking for."

Clark rested his head against the back of his seat and closed his eyes and then began to recite details, "Our killer is male, probably about thirty-five, thirty-eight at the oldest. He's white, with a college education most likely from an institution similar to MIT. He has a steady office job that I would imagine pays rather well. He owns his own vehicle. He is unmarried. His parents are both dead, the mother before the father I'm certain, and he's an only child. He always has the tools he needs for his kills readily available because they aren't planned more than an hour or so in advance. That's based on the fact that none of the victims reported feelings of being watched to friends or family before they died. He's smart, possibly religious although not a Christian, and he's searching for something."

"How do you know that?" Booth asked.

"The murders themselves have the same feeling of a room that's been methodically ransacked," Clark replied, baffling Brennan who couldn't understand how there was possibly a similar ambience between a room that had been thoroughly searched and a murder scene. Glancing over at Booth, however, she found him nodding. Maybe his more extensive experience made the statement plausible. Brennan shrugged and turned to look out her window, smiling at a baby who was giggling and kicking its feet in a car seat in the vehicle next to them. With Clark's closing statement the conversation had ended.

The silence stretched on for almost fifteen minutes, the only sound when Booth turned the steering wheel or flipped on a turn signal. Brennan smothered a grin when a light snore was emitted from the backseat. Obviously Clark had fallen asleep. Booth spoke softly to her.

"Do you want me to drop you off at the lab?"

"Yes, please. Zach should have the bones cleaned off and the x-rays should be developed. And Hodgins promised to go through all the paraphernalia that the medical examiner's office sent over with the remains. I want to collect all the evidence we need and release the bones as soon as possible. I want her family to be able to bury her properly before her brother's wedding."

Booth nodded in understanding.

"So, Clark was well-behaved while I was camping with Parker?" he asked, attempting subtlety.

"Yes, Booth. I only saw him once before you returned and we exchanged only a phone calls. Mostly I was asking some clarifying questions," Brennan replied, recognizing only the surface level of the question.

"Good, good. So he didn't try anything then?"

"Try what? What do you mean, Booth?" Brennan asked curiously.

Booth smiled. Obviously if Clark had tried to put any kind of moves on his partner, she had been totally oblivious. That was his Bones. She didn't see something unless it was a Mack truck aimed straight for her. Or a pile of bones on her table.

"Never mind, Bones. We'll be at your lab soon. Then I'm going to head over to my office. I'll call you if anything new comes up."

"Ok."

They sat in companionable silence for a while until the snoring from behind them became unbearable. Unable to resist, Booth shot Brennan a devilish smile and reached over to the radio dial, blasting an oldies station at full volume. As Clark snorted awake and yelled for being awoken, Booth and Brennan lip-synched to the Beach Boys' wish that they all could be California girls.

Pulling up at entrance to the lab, Booth put the vehicle in park as Brennan gathered her bag and slid out. Standing in the gap between the vehicle and the door she turned back to speak to him.

"Thanks, Booth."

"No problem, Bones. I'll see you later."

She nodded, stepped back to slam the door shut and then changed her mind.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"If you try to get those photos from that journal article, I'll know."

"What photos?" Booth asked with a mischievous grin.

Brennan smiled back and then closed the door. She gave a brief wave as they pulled away and then turned to enter the Jeffersonian. Internally she attempted to push away the image that seemed to be burned into her mind of Booth's dark eyes gazing into her own, expressing something that she had been unable to comprehend. She would not spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about it. She had bones to study. Carrie Matthews' bones.

* * *

Booth sank into his desk chair with a sigh. He'd finally ridded himself of Clark and with the pest out of the way he could give full attention to the large stack of files that Brennan's office had sent over for him to peruse. A dozen thick manila folders stood in the center of his desk. He didn't want to study these. To see the faces of these unfortunate women, prey of some psychotic killer who enjoyed hearing them scream. Who killed them without any qualms and later dumped their bodies where scavenging animals would inevitably rip them to pieces. No he didn't want to see these innocent faces and then see the crime scene photos. It was this part of the job he hated the most.

But this time, like every time before, he did it anyway. He did study the faces, he did read the reports, he did examine the crime scene photos. It would all be worth it in the end when they caught the bastard. When they locked him up in a federal prison and threw away the key. And he would give a sigh of relief that another killer was off the street. He wouldn't think about how every single one of these girls frighteningly reminded him of Brennan.

* * *

Booth leaned in the doorway of one of the smaller examination rooms of the lab at the Jeffersonian. Brennan was standing next to the illuminated table comparing the bones laid out before her to the x-rays she held in her hands. Her long auburn hair was pulled away from her face in a sloppy ponytail and her blue lab coat was open. Booth watched her in the depths of concentration as he had a million times before, still surprised by how attractive she was when she didn't even know he was there. She let out of sigh, and glanced up in his direction, finally recognizing him and giving him a wide smile in greeting.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," she said, beckoning for him to come closer.

"Many apologies for my lateness," he replied, approaching her.

Sidling up to him, her face uplifted and Booth responded with a brief kiss on the lips. An act he performed like he'd done it a thousand times before. He opened his eyes to smile at her and instead found himself staring down at the smiling face of Carrie Matthews. And suddenly he wasn't in the lab, but in a warehouse, the familiar barking of angry dogs not far off and Carrie was hanging on a hook from her handcuffs, screaming as a masked man beat her with a plank of wood. But suddenly it wasn't Carrie hanging there but Brennan. She turned her piercing green eyes directly at him and as the hunk of wood solidly connected with her flesh, she opened her mouth to emit scream but a shrill ringing came out instead. Struggling to reach her Booth ran without moving as she released the harsh sound again.

Starting awake, Booth stared at the clock on his desk. 5:07 a.m. He must have fallen asleep at his desk. The phone rang for the third time and this time he picked it up with a groan, shaking away the demons from his nightmare.

"Booth," he mumbled groggily.

"And you harass me when I fall asleep at the office," Brennan cajoled in his ear.

"Bones, please tell me you didn't call to lecture me about my hypocrisy at five in the morning."

"An intriguing idea, but no. Clark just called. He thinks we've got a second victim."

"Already?"

"Hmm. Meet me in twenty minutes at the National Aquarium," she replied shortly and hung up.

"The aquarium?" Booth asked the dial tone.

Shaking away the cobwebs from his none-to-restful sleep, Booth pulled out a fresh shirt from the third drawer of his desk. There was no way he was going to work with Bones in a shirt he'd already worn for thirty-six hours. Especially not when a single workday with her tended to stretch on towards the twenty-hour mark. Bones would thank him if he put on a clean shirt and a little aftershave, even if it did make him a couple minutes late. Besides, even if she did complain he'd just point out that at least he hadn't taken a shower in a lab like she had. He was certain that when he'd talked to her just then before she'd hung up, he'd heard the sliding door of her office open in the background and Angela complain, "You slept here again?"

* * *

_There you are. Yet another chapter. I apologize for how short it is but I needed something to use as a filler between the last chapter and the next one. Hope this wasn't too disappointing. Let me know what you thought and send any suggestions. I'm open to anything. Especially chocolate._


	6. Assumptions and Corrections

You guys are the best reviewers ever! My muse adores each and every one of you (as do I). Thanks so much.

Disclaimer: I've said it before and it won't be too long before I say it again, they're not mine.

* * *

**Ch. 6 – Assumptions & Corrections**

Booth flashed his badge at the Park Police officers standing guard outside of the National Aquarium and strode into the lobby. He wandered down hallways consisting of floor-to-ceiling aquariums, following the directions the guard in the foyer had given him. He finally arrived at the cordoned off area which centered on a large, freestanding tank that appeared empty of anything moving. Ducking under the yellow crime scene tape, he spotted Hodgins standing on the fringe of the activity, several large bags at his feet, and sauntered over.

"Booth," Hodgins greeted, and then yawned.

"Good morning, Hodgins," Booth said with a grin and then sipped the remains of his coffee.

"There is absolutely nothing good about the morning before 7:00 a.m." Hodgins grumbled, "You're lucky though. Brennan had me hauled in here at four. Not that I've seen her yet."

Booth quirked his eyebrow in suspicion at the time Hodgins had mentioned. Noticing the sudden change in the agent's mood, Hodgins questioned, "What's up? Is there something fishy going on?"

"Jack, I'm surprised at you. I thought it would be too early for puns," a familiar female voice called out from behind Booth. He turned to face Brennan who was giving her associate a wry smile, her damp hair hanging around her face in loose waves. She was clad in scrubs, an unusual look for her, and she had an oxygen tank slung over one shoulder. Noticing that the forensic anthropologist was giving him an accusatory glance, he realized that he had missed something she said.

"Sorry, I missed that."

"I said you're late. I called at 5:07 and gave you twenty minutes. It's 5:43."

"I changed my shirt and I shaved. And before you start harping on me about punctuality, may I point out that you took a shower at your lab."

"I did not."

"C'mon, Bones, I heard Angela in the background. You slept in the lab. And based on your wet hair, you've taken a shower."

"Your deductive reasoning has failed you this morning, Booth," Brennan answered, a grin creeping over her face. "I, in fact, slept at home last night. Or at least I slept there until almost three this morning when Agent Clark called me and informed me that there was a new victim. My hair is damp because I've been in the tank already this morning."

Booth's eyes narrowed.

"You've been here since 3:00 a.m.?"

"Since slightly after that, yes," Brennan replied, confused at his sudden and seemingly unfounded anger.

Wheeling away from her, he called out, louder than necessary, "Clark! Where the hell are you?"

The other agent approached from behind and answered, "Booth, glad you could finally join us."

Ignoring the comment, Booth ploughed ahead, his anger rising, "Obviously, you're just as stupid as I've always given you credit for. Otherwise you wouldn't have so blatantly ignored orders."

"What do you mean, Booth?" Brennan interjected, over his shoulder.

Booth didn't turn to face her and instead directed all of his words and fury at Clark, "Anytime, Dr. Brennan is in the field, I'm supposed to be there too. Cullen clearly spelled that out for you. No one wants a repeat of what happened to Kate Mahoney. Even you, despite your lack of any real human feeling."

"My inhumanity aside," Clark returned, "what are you so worried about? There are tons of people around. Nothing did nor will happen to your precious partner."

"How many people were around Kate Mahoney?"

Cullen made a face that Brennan couldn't label.

"You know, I could have you pulled off the case for this," Booth threatened.

Clark showed real emotion for the first time, "You wouldn't."

"I would and I could. And as of right now, I won't. But if you pull another stunt like this…"

Clark nodded his understanding and then walked off, having been called away by another officer. Booth turned back to the scientists to find Hodgins attempting nonchalance while Brennan had the sparkle in her eye that meant an argument was on the horizon.

"Booth, why did you raise such a…" she searched for the word Angela had used the other day, her face lighting up when she remembered, "such a ruckus?"

Booth smiled at Bones' face when she successfully used the colloquialism but quickly regained his composure when she glared at him.

"Because, Bones, he violated a direct order from the deputy director. One that ensures your safety. And before you fly off the handle and tell me that you can protect yourself can I just point out that I'm the guy who stands next to you with a gun. And I'm the guy that's pulled you out of situations where you couldn't defend yourself more times than I care to count."

"I concede the point," Brennan said with a shrug of her shoulders, surprising Booth. She suddenly switched topics, "Who's Kate Mahoney? Did something happen to her while she was working with Clark?"

Booth weighed his options, "We'll talk about it later. Right now, how about you tell me what we've got?"

"Skeletal remains at the bottom of the tank almost entirely devoid of flesh. The victim was female, aged 18-25. My initial examinations indicate that she has similar injuries to those of Carrie Matthews. Based on the information gathered by Agent Clark thus far, the victim's flesh was consumed by the Pygocentrus nattereri which inhabit the tank."

"Pogo natter what?" Booth asked, detesting Latin.

"Red belly piranhas," Hodgins supplied.

"Piranhas. Wow, those are scary fish. And you've been in the tank already, Bones?" Booth asked, suddenly concerned.

"The reputation of piranhas as flesh-eaters is greatly exaggerated and was originally brought about by a book written by Theodore Roosevelt. Anyway, they will not eat a large animal in a matter of minutes unless they're on the brink of starvation. These fish live in the National Aquarium so you can rest assured that they are well fed.

"In regions of South America, young fishermen will swim in amongst schools of piranhas without being harmed. But, if it will ease your mind, Booth, the tank is empty. The fish were removed so that the tank could be cleaned last night. The remains were found as a result. Based on how clean these bones are I can say with a great deal of certainty that this woman was most likely killed before Carrie Matthews."

"Before?" Booth mused, mostly to himself.

"Indeed. Now, if it's alright with you, Hodgins and I are going to suit up and recover the remains from the bottom of the tank. Care to join us?" Brennan asked with a teasing smile, "You never know what might be lurking underwater."

"Nah, I'll chase off the snipers that are above water," Booth returned.

Brennan grinned and sauntered off, Hodgins staggering behind her with all the equipment. Booth couldn't help but notice the sway of her hips and how attractive she looked, even in the formless scrubs.

"Dude, you've got it bad," he muttered under his breath.

Three hours later, Booth stood waiting in the access area beneath the tank, a large towel in hand. He stepped forward when Brennan finally emerged from the series of chambers that allowed access into the aquarium. Removing her mask and sliding the heavy oxygen tank off her shoulders, she sat on a nearby stool and rubbed her shoulder. Booth watched the exhaustion wash over her features and remembered that she had been up for five hours already and in the tank twice. She wrung out her hair and accepted the towel Booth offered her with a grateful smile. After rubbing most of the water out her long tresses and wiping her face, she stood up and pulled out a small, wet, plastic bag from the pouch slung over her hips.

"What's that?" Booth asked, accepting the towel Brennan handed back to him as she removed her flippers.

"That's what I used to ID our victim."

"You've ID'd her already?" Booth asked incredulously, "You haven't got dental x-rays in there or something, do you?"

"No," Brennan smiled tiredly, "It's a medic alert bracelet. Our victim, Jenna Sorrel, had diabetes."

Booth looked down at the delicate silver bracelet inside the bag that Brennan had just handed him. It amazed him that it had survived everything that Jenna had been through. Unfortunately, Jenna hadn't been as lucky. Looking up, Booth was surprised to see that Brennan had already gotten up and was headed for the impromptu change room that had been set up in a broom closet.

"Bones, where you going?"

"I am going to change. Then I am going back to the lab where I will shower and sleep for a few more hours. Zach can handle the remains for now. I've already taken extensive notes. Come by once you and Clark have figured out what we're doing next."

Booth smiled, "Yes ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am," she shot back as she closed the closet door behind her.

"Ok, Bones," he whispered to himself.

* * *

Angela looked up at the rapping on the doorframe of her office. 

"Booth," she greeted with a smile.

"Hey, Angela, I was hoping you could tell me where Brennan is. I want to take her out for lunch before we start some heavy-duty investigative work."

Angela resisted the urge to question if that meant that they weren't going to have a working lunch and answered the agent's question instead.

"Well, unless she's taken up sleepwalking Bren should be in her office. I finally managed to convince her to flake out," Angela checked her watch, "two hours ago."

"Two hours ago? She left the scene just after eight."

"Yeah, she came back here and took a shower. But then she wanted to supervise Zach while he laid out the bones and point out areas she wanted x-rays from right away. Then she went over the notes she'd recorded on her machine. After that, someone from your office faxed over the photo of the victim which she wanted me to overlay on the skull to confirm the match. I finally convinced her at about ten that the world wouldn't end if she took a nap."

"So much for letting Zach handle things," Booth muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Never mind. In her office you said?"

"Yup."

"Thanks. I'll see ya around."

"Later."

Booth slid the door of Brennan's office open quietly, letting only the fluorescent light from the hallway filter into the darkened room. He stood just inside the door, allowing his eyes to adjust to the lower level of illumination and then approached the couch where the auburn-haired forensic anthropologist was lying. He noted the photo of Jenna Sorrel lying on the coffee table parallel to where Brennan lay. Again, he recognized the uncanny resemblance to his partner. If Bones hadn't of had the career she did, he would have been seriously concerned at this point. Instead he crept further towards her sleeping form. Her breathing was light and even and her face was completely relaxed. He regretted having to wake her but knew she wouldn't forgive him if he kept her out of the loop much longer.

Kneeling down beside the end of the couch where her head was resting, he spoke gently, "Bones? Time to wake up."

Brennan sighed lightly. She'd been having a rather pleasant dream that involved a steamy embrace with a certain FBI agent and Booth had ruined it by waking her up. Her eyes snapped open, "Booth!"

"Hey there, Sleeping Beauty."

Brennan rolled her eyes, grateful that he couldn't know what she'd just been dreaming, and sat up slowly, running her hand through her hair in an effort to amend any trace of bedhead. Booth hid a smile at the sight.

"What time is it?" she asked, and then smothered a yawn.

"A little after noon. I came by to see if you were up to lunch at Wong Foo's while I catch you up on what's been going on while you were in the land of Nod."

"Mmm, yes. Give me ten minutes to get ready."

* * *

Booth smiled as Brennan made a sound of delight after swallowing a mouthful of noodles and chicken. He hid it by taking a sip of his water realizing that if he didn't do something soon he was going to turn into a grinning idiot every time Brennan came into the vicinity. 

"For whom did Jenna work?" Brennan asked, taking another mouthful.

Booth resisted making a face at Brennan's perfect grammar and replied, "Peek-A-Boo."

Bones raised her eyebrows in response.

"I know, weird coincidence, right? So Clark and I went back to talk to Madeleine Brightman again. It turns out that just over a month ago someone hacked into their computer system and accessed their network. There are photographs of employees, employee profiles, and a schedule that covers the next three weeks on that network."

"The killer knew who he was looking for, where she'd be, and when she would be there? That's frightening. It also puts a hole in Clark's profile. These crimes were planned weeks in advance."

Booth nodded and continued, "We checked the last gig Jenna had before she stopped contacting Madeleine. You'll never believe where it was."

"Delta Phi Epsilon?" Brennan supplied incredulously.

"None other."

"Does that mean Clark's wrong about it not being a member of the fraternity?"

"He's convinced that it isn't a frat boy. Cullen's humoring him. Clark thinks that the perp somehow set up a surveillance system and phone taps inside the frat house and is using it to monitor the members as well as the girls that came in. We sent in an undercover reconnaissance team to determine whether or not he's right."

"Undercover?" Bones queried as she took a sip of her iced tea.

"They go in as maintenance men. And right now Clark is interviewing the chapter president on campus."

"You mean you trust him enough to do an interview all on his own?" Brennan teased.

"Be quiet or I'll steal some of your noodles."

"Don't you dare steal my food or I'll tell Sid."

Booth smirked and Brennan gave him a wide grin of her own. Their banter was interrupted when Booth's cell phone rang. Brennan listened with interest to Booth's end of the conversation as she continued to eat her meal.

"Booth."

"You've finished already?"

"You're kidding."

"Son of a bitch."

"No, thanks. I'll talk to you later. Bye."

Booth flipped his phone closed and turned to his curious partner.

"We've got to head over to my office. Clark was right."

* * *

_That's right, I'm going to leave you there. For now. Just a few side notes: (1) I'm not sure whether the Park Police would guard a crime scene at the aquarium, please forgive me if I'm in error, (2) Delta Phi Epsilon is a real frat but every member that I mention and anything else concerning it is purely my imagination, and (3) my piranha data is all internet research, please forgive any inaccuracies. So, what did you think? Impressed with Brennan's underwater skills, want your own personal Booth alarm clock? Liked it, hated it? For any or all of the above you know what button to press. My muse will love you. And muse love is almost as good as chocolate._


	7. Sensitivity

Last night's episode was awesome. And your reviews are equally awesome. I regret to report that due to unforeseen demand, I have run out of Booth alarm clocks. In fact, even I didn't get one. Oh well, c'est la vie.

Disclaimer: They will never, ever be mine and that makes me consider therapy every day.

* * *

**Ch. 7 – Sensitivity**

Brennan sighed in frustration. Booth had promised to be back with the reconnaissance report in five minutes. That had been twenty minutes ago. Temperance was patient but knowing that new and possibly vital information was out there made her anxious. Attempting to distract herself, she stood up and wandered behind Booth's desk, sitting down in his chair. She noted as she sat down that his chair smelled of him and the scent comforted her, although she didn't know why. Her eyes skimmed over the desk, quickly skipping over anything that appeared top secret, and lighted on the framed photograph of a smiling Parker, hugging a football. She smiled back at the image and looked up at the familiar voice speaking to her from the doorway.

"I'm still the one with the badge, you know. Taking over my desk doesn't make you an FBI agent, nor does it entitle you to a gun," Booth teased.

"My plot is foiled once again," Brennan returned and stood up, walking around the desk to return to her seat. Booth walked around the same side and as they sidled around each other, Brennan felt an electric tingle go up her spine when his hand brushed against her hip. Finally seated, she hoped that there was no tell-tale flush on her cheeks and began to shoot questions at the FBI agent in an effort to detract from the suddenly palpable sexual tension.

"What did they find in the fraternity house?"

Booth gazed at Brennan, attempting to penetrate her armor and discover if she had felt the same attraction. Seeing the desperation in her eyes he realized she had but that she wasn't ready to admit it yet. He sighed in frustration and then answered her question.

"Everything Clark said they would find. Phone taps. Hidden surveillance cameras. Some rooms were even bugged for sound."

"How could our killer possibly get in there to do that?"

"Last month, the house's electrical system shorted out. They had to bring in a large team of electricians to re-wire the house and then some other repairmen to clean up the mess the electricians made."

"Making it easy for someone to go in and out unnoticed."

Booth nodded.

"What happens now? Do you attempt to trace the signal from his surveillance equipment?"

"We're going to try but Clark's not too optimistic. Considering how technologically savvy this guy is I'd imagine that these signals would be impossible to trace."

Brennan nodded.

"How did Clark's interview with the chapter president go?" she asked after a moment.

"Fine, but we didn't really get anything useful. He doesn't live in the house and he's been working on law school applications for the past few weeks so he hasn't been to the most recent parties. He also wasn't sure when they were planning another one. We've put some agents out to keep an eye on the house and to keep an eye out for anyone suspicious."

"Great. What do we do now?"

"Now, we wait."

"For what?"

"Well, for your lab report for one. Come to think of it, have you finished testing those muscle biopsies from Carrie Matthews?"

"There was an unusual chemical in the muscle tissue but toxicology was unable to identify it. Hodgins, on a hunch, sent the samples to one of his friends, a botanist. He's convinced it's derived from a plant. I think you've rubbed off on my team, Booth. They didn't have as many hunches before."

Booth shrugged, "What can I say? I'm an influential guy."

"Among other things. Well, if you don't need me here, I guess I'll go back to the lab to finish that report on Jenna Sorrel. You'll call me if anything new comes up."

"I will."

"And maybe you could just call tomorrow, let me know how things are," the forensic anthropologist suggested uncertainly.

Booth raised an eyebrow, "Things?"

"Yes, just things," she said, her eyes defying him to tease her. Realizing that Bones was reaching out, Booth jumped at the implicit invitation.

"Sure, Bones, I'll call you tomorrow. Check and make sure that skeletons of undead pirates haven't invaded your office seeking the treasure of Cortez."

"I don't know what that means."

"I know. I'll call."

Brennan gave him that smile that reminded him of how innocent she could be, "Good. I'll see you."

"Bye."

Booth watched her walk out of his office, hips swaying gently. Maybe she wasn't as oblivious as he'd thought.

* * *

Two days later, Brennan yawned as she closed her apartment door behind her. She'd spent another late night in the office, studying every inch of Carrie Matthews and Jenna Sorrel's remains. Many of their injuries were similar and their wrists were broken identically. Dropping her keys in the bowl by the door, Brennan hung up her coat and meandered into her kitchen where she put on the kettle. A warm drink and then some sleep were in her near future.

Booth had called her that day at around lunch, letting her know about how the investigation was going. He'd called at the same time the day before. At this point, he and Clark were chasing paper, working on the profile, and conducting seemingly endless and useless interviews with both Peek-A-Boo employees and Delta Phi Epsilon members. Booth had also mentioned earlier that day that Clark was still driving him utterly insane. Apparently he knew how to push Booth's buttons. Brennan was grateful that she didn't have to deal with the two battling agents. In her opinion, one agent was more than enough for her. On several levels.

The kettle whistled, saving her from giving thought to the new… vibe, as Angela would say, that she had recently noticed between herself and Booth. Removing a mug from the cupboard, she dropped in a teabag and added hot water. She was about to take her mug into the bedroom when her phone rang. She glanced at the clock. 11:47. It had to be Booth and it had to be important; otherwise he would never call this late. She scooped up the phone as it rang again

"Brennan," she answered.

"Hey Bones, sorry to be calling so late," the anticipated voice apologized.

"It's fine, Booth. What's up?"

"We may just have gotten a huge lead. Can you get here right away?"

"The Hoover building? I'm at home but I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Great, I'll see you in a bit."

* * *

Brennan smiled at the night guard who waved her through. Her smile widened when she saw Booth, coming towards her with long, powerful strides. She would only admit it to herself, but she had missed seeing the FBI agent the past two days. Booth waved at the night guard as he approached her and then took her elbow in his grasp as he did an about-face, pulling her towards the elevator, his face resolute. He was utterly oblivious to the silent greeting she had just sent his way.

"It's about time you got here."

"It's nice to see you too, Booth. Have you lost all your manners?"

Booth ignored her question, too intent on his own train of thought to be derailed, "Maybe she'll talk to you."

"She? I thought you said we had a lead."

"We do. Siobhan O'Byrne is our lead. She was attacked a block away from the Delta Phi Epsilon fraternity house after she… uh… performed there. He beat her up a little bit but he didn't kill her and Clark and I are positive that it was our guy trying to go for number three. But he didn't. And we want to know why. But she won't talk to us."

"There's a surprise, Booth," Brennan began as she hurried ahead of him, suddenly eager. "You're both large, hulking, male FBI agents and she was just attacked a few hours ago. She's hurt and frightened and the two of you grilling her probably isn't helping. Why is it that you can't understand that victims frequently need comfort and not the third degree? I really wish law enforcement could learn that one."

Booth stepped into the elevator beside his now fuming partner, confused at how he had suddenly ended up in the doghouse.

"Why are you so worked up about this?"

"Because Booth, I've been shot at several times, kidnapped more times than I care to count, my fridge was blown up, and I've been in fights where I didn't come out on top. And every time, someone wants to question me, get every single detail that I can possibly remember less than an hour later, when I barely understand what happened. All I want to do is spend some time doing something logical and comprehendible while I attempt to piece everything together and instead I get people like you sticking me in a small room and asking never-ending questions. Now, I'm not saying that this girl is exactly like me, she might want to huddle in a dark corner with a teddy bear for all I know, but I'm damn sure that she doesn't want to be in an FBI interrogation room at 12:30 in the morning."

"I apologize for the shortcomings of those in my field, Bones. But I could really use your help here," he said, giving her a questioning look.

"Of course I'll help. This could potentially prevent this man from killing another woman. I'd be an idiot if I didn't try to help. I'm just saying that the FBI should consider sensitivity training for its agents," she paused and then continued, "I'm sorry I snapped at you, Booth. It's just I've been where this girl is right now and it wasn't one of the most pleasant experiences in my life. You're one of the most sensitive people I've ever met.

The elevator door dinged as it opened, leaving Booth to smile at Brennan's back as she walked out. It was one of the nicer compliments she had ever given him. But something about her earlier speech bothered him. She'd been kidnapped more times than she cared to count? What did that mean? And why wasn't it in her FBI folder? He only knew about the once with Kenton and the idea that Brennan had experienced such terror before, without him there to save her made his blood run cold. Shaking his head, he stepped out of the elevator before it closed on him. Now wasn't the time for him to worry about things that couldn't be fixed anyway. There was a woman in the interrogation room who possibly held all the information he needed.

Brennan stood outside the door of the interrogation room, waiting for him to go into the adjacent observation room, before she entered. Booth stepped inside, nodding at Clark in greeting and then turned to watch through the window.

Brennan took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she turned the door handle and stepped into the interrogation room. The door shut behind her with a loud click, causing the young woman seated at the table to look up suddenly. Her emerald green eyes were red from crying and her chestnut brown hair was in disarray. She had a growing bruise on the left side of her jaw and Brennan's experienced eye noted the stitches on the heel of her right hand. The girl was wrapped in a blanket but Brennan spied a tear on the right sleeve of her shirt.

"Siobhan O'Byrne?" she asked gently.

The girl nodded, her eyes wide.

"I'm Temperance Brennan. I work with the FBI sometimes. How are you doing?"

The girl lifted her left shoulder in a sign of ambivalence and suddenly her eyes welled up. Booth watched in mild surprise as Brennan reached out and patted the girl on the back and then gave her hug. Siobhan cried harder, clinging to the forensic anthropologist, a compassionate, female presence, the first she had encountered that evening. Brennan rubbed the girl's back and murmured soothing, nonsense syllables until the tears slowed and then stopped. Pulling back, she handed Siobhan a tissue. After the girl had collected herself, she looked up at Brennan and offered a watery smile.

"Sorry about that," she said with a gentle Irish lilt, "I'm not usually the type to fall all to pieces but then again, this wasn't exactly a typical evening."

"I can imagine. Listen, Siobhan, I know this is difficult but I need you to tell me everything that happened after you left the fraternity house."

The young woman nodded and began to speak, "I left the house at about 10:30. The boys had been very nice, very respectful, and I'd made some good money. I walked down Greek row, that's the street where all the fraternity houses are. It's blocked off at the end so there's no traffic at all. I'd called for a cab and it was supposed to meet me at the corner of 34th and M Street. I'd just rounded the corner from Greek row onto 34th; maybe I'd walked past a house or two, I don't really remember. Anyway, I was walking down the sidewalk when this fist comes out of nowhere and socks me in the jaw. I was so stunned and all of the self-defense training I'd learned flew out of my head. The next thing I know, this tall man has grabbed my hair, pulled my head back and is pointing a knife at my neck."

Brennan put a reassuring hand on the girl's arm as her eyes welled up again, "Did he say anything?"

"Yeah, but it didn't make sense. He said, 'Lucky bitch.You couldn't be her, the hair's all wrong.' Then he threw me to the ground, kicked me, and ran off. There was some broken glass on the ground and it cut my hand. After that, I called the police. They sent me to the hospital and the next thing I know, the doctor's just finished stitching my hand when this insensitive prick, name was Clark I think, comes bursting in and saying that I need to come with him because I'm vital to an FBI investigation. What the hell was he talking about, Temperance? How could I possibly have anything to do with that?"

Brennan smiled reassuringly, "It's not really you, Siobhan. We believe that the man who attacked you has killed fourteen other women."

Siobhan stared at the woman seated beside her, her eyes wide with incomprehension.

"He killed fourteen women?" she paused, "Why didn't he kill me?"

"I have an idea," Brennan answered, "but I need to ask you one last question and then we'll confirm my hypothesis."

"Ok," Siobhan said uncertainly.

"Siobhan, in your file photo for Peek-A-Boo, was your hair red?"

The young woman started, "Yes. I… Madeleine teased me that the only thing about me that wasn't stereotypical Irish was my hair. So for my photo I wore a red wig as a joke. Is that why he…"

"It doesn't matter," Brennan interrupted firmly, "What does matter is that you are safe and alive. And you're going to stay that way. We're going to have an officer drive you home and if you want she'll spend the night. Ok?"

The girl nodded.

"Good. Now if you need to talk to anyone, just give me a call," Brennan said, pulling out a sheet of paper and writing her number on it.

"Thank you, Temperance," the young woman said, holding the paper tightly in her left hand.

Temperance nodded and turned to leave the room but halted when Siobhan called out to her, "Temperance?"

"Yes?"

"Can you apologize to," she paused to think, "Agent Booth? I was kind of reticent when he tried to talk to me. I understand that he was just trying to help but he was just so… big, you know?"

Brennan nodded and gave the girl a small smile, "I'll pass the message along. Take care."

* * *

Brennan rolled her head around, her neck cracking as she did so. Closing her eyes she steeled herself for what she knew was about to happen and stepped into the room next to the interrogation area she had just left. As anticipated, Booth and Clark were already facing off.

"You want to do what?" Booth shouted.

"You heard me just fine, Booth. I want to send in an undercover agent to catch this guy. It's the only way we're going to stop him and you know it."

Booth shook his head in the negative, his lips curling in a frown. Before he could shoot back a reply, Brennan interjected.

"He's right, Booth. I know you hate it, but it's true."

Both men turned to the forensic anthropologist in surprise, having entirely missed her entrance.

"Bones, no. Clark has a really horrible track record when he sends someone in undercover."

"Kate Mahoney?" Brennan asked. Booth nodded in the affirmative.

"It doesn't matter," Brennan returned, "You're working this case too. And I know you would never let anything happen to someone you sent in undercover."

Booth nodded in appreciation, "Fine. We'll do it. I'll talk to Cullen tomorrow and get an appropriate female agent assigned to the case. We'll brief her, set up her cover, and we'll go in."

"We don't have time to train a whole new agent so that she understands every nuance of this case," Clark interjected. "It'll take too long and we need to do this now before our killer gets ambitious, knocks off number three and moves on to another state."

Booth frowned; annoyed that he was once again forced to agree with the profiler. He was about to offer up another idea when the one woman in the room, chimed in.

"I'll do it. I'll go undercover."

Clark beamed at Brennan, like the proverbial cat that had swallowed the canary, but the anthropologist didn't see him. All she saw was the appalled look on Booth's face.

* * *

_Dun, dun, duh! (my attempt at suspenseful music) I'm just so evil. Let me know what you thought, good, bad, ugly, whatever. Or you could bribe me with tasty treats so that my muse and I hit the keyboard once again with gusto. All up to you after you press that little button._


	8. Negotiations

A big cheer for everyone who reviewed, you've now broken a hundred. Your comments are truly awesome and ensure that I write more. Thanks so much.

Disclaimer: Totally don't own them, I just love to play with them. Maybe I could borrow them permanently. That would be really great. Not likely though. sigh.

* * *

**Ch. 8 – Negotiations**

Brennan gave Booth yet another sidelong glance. Ever since she had volunteered the night before to go undercover he had barely spoken to her. He'd refused to plan or even discuss how they would go about catching the killer. He'd simply escorted her out of the building, walked her to her car and said a civil good night.

Not sure what was going to happen today, she'd gone to the lab to study the case files yet again. She'd been at work for maybe an hour when Booth had appeared in the doorway of her office, the same blank look on his face. They had a meeting with the deputy director, he'd told her curtly. Nodding, she'd followed him out and endured the silent car ride to the Hoover building. But now sitting between Booth and Clark in Cullen's office, waiting for the deputy director to arrive, she was starting to feel anxious and annoyed. It was obvious Booth was upset, most likely with her, and she couldn't understand why. She hadn't done anything wrong. Her volunteering to go undercover was logical. She knew the most about the case after Clark and Booth and she fit the killer's preferred victim profile. Booth had to see that. So why was he treating her like she'd committed a crime?

Brennan's train of thought was interrupted when Cullen entered and then sighed.

"Oh this is definitely how I wanted to start my morning," he said sarcastically as he closed the door behind him. Sitting down at his desk, the older man took a sip of his coffee, made a face of disgust, and turned his attention to the three individuals seated in front of him. He could already feel the headache coming on.

"What brings the three of you to my office at 8:30 in the morning?" he asked.

Clark and Brennan simultaneously turned to Booth, who had dragged both of them in.

"Agent Booth?" the director prodded.

"There was a new development last night," Booth began, "Our killer attacked another woman. However, he didn't kill her. Which means we now know that he's on the lookout for his third kill and then he'll be moving on to another state. We want to catch him before he does so."

Cullen nodded, "Sounds fine to me."

"Yes, sir, but the problem is that the only way we're going to catch this guy is if we send in a woman undercover."

Cullen shrugged, "I still don't see the problem, Booth."

"That's what I told him, sir," Clark interrupted, "but he has an issue with the woman that Dr. Brennan and myself want to send in."

"Who is it?"

"I volunteered to go, sir," Brennan answered, catching the brief, pained look that crossed Booth's face, but it was quickly replaced by the now familiar blank look.

"Dr. Brennan, no disrespect, but you're not an agent. I strongly dislike the idea of sending you."

"But she's the perfect fit, sir," Clark argued, "She strongly resembles all of the other victims, she knows the details of this case inside out, and we all know that she is perfectly capable of defending herself."

Booth raised his eyebrows at the last comment but found himself unable to deny the fact that Brennan was entirely capable of protecting herself. Cullen gave the forensic anthropologist seated directly across from him a long gaze and then turned apologetically Booth.

"Clark does make a good point."

Booth closed his eyes briefly and then letting out a deep breath he said, "Sir, I hate to do this but I'd like to request that Dr. Brennan be removed from the case."

"Booth!" Brennan burst out, turning to her partner in surprise and mild outrage.

The agent ignored the woman beside him and continued to address his boss, "You did give me the authority, sir, to pull her off the case if I felt she was being needlessly endangered."

"I did," the director replied slowly.

"But this isn't needless," Brennan stated, "We need to catch this man before he kills again. We all know that I am nowhere near being in danger. I've fended off more creeps than you count."

"Dr. Brennan, " Cullen began, "I do appreciate your… abilities. But I'm not yet convinced that you are the only person capable of delivering a believable performance. Do you honestly think you can pass yourself off as a stripper? Because as I understand it, it is entirely possible that the killer has watched these women perform before he killed them and it may be the same with you. Could you really do that?"

"Well, sir, I actually do have some informal knowledge of how to perform a striptease. I'm not an ecdysiast but I can certainly pass myself off as one."

All three men turned questioning gazes on the one woman in the room. "Ecdysiast?" Booth asked, the same question that Cullen and Clark had been about to spill out.

"Ecdysiast, derived from the Greek ekdysls. Essentially, a stripper."

The other men in the room nodded and Booth muttered, "Of course, she knows big words for everything else. Couldn't just be incomprehensible when she talks about bones."

"Sorry?" Brennan queried, turning to face Booth.

"Nothing," he replied, turning his attention back to the deputy director.

Cullen was silent for a long moment, considering everything that had been presented to him. Finally, he spoke.

"I'm afraid, Agent Booth, that I must agree with Clark and Brennan and approve their request that she be allowed to go undercover."

Booth closed his eyes against his defeat. Swallowing the fear that was already building, he reopened his eyes as Cullen continued speaking.

"However, there is one condition: Booth will also go undercover."

"Sir!" Clark interrupted, "it may have escaped your notice, but I'm pretty sure our killer will never buy Booth as an… ecdysiast."

"I didn't say he was going to be a stripper, Agent Clark. I am certain that he can pass as a fraternity alumnus, which will also give him access to the Delta Phi Epsilon house. He'll be in the same room as Dr. Brennan during her… ahem… performance and only a block behind her after she leaves that house, not in some support van fifteen blocks away. Is that acceptable to you, Agent Booth?"

Booth nodded, grateful to the director, but he was unable to completely rid himself of the feeling of foreboding in his gut. The agent noted out of the corner of his eye that Brennan looked slightly relieved as well. He smiled to himself. Obviously, she hadn't been as confident as she'd let on.

"Alright, now will the three of you get the hell out of my office and solve this case so that I don't have to mediate another one of these meetings? Please?" Cullen added almost desperately.

Booth nodded, leading the way out of the office. He strode down the hallway and standing at the elevator was surprised to see Brennan and Clark further back, conversing. He felt a sudden spike of jealousy when Brennan began to laugh. He'd rarely seen her emit more than a chuckle and the fact that Clark had caused her to let out that resounding giggle made him want to pummel the other agent into the ground. That was until the two approached him, Brennan still laughing and clutching her sides while Clark followed along looking peeved.

"What's so funny?" Booth asked.

Brennan gasped for air, and stopped laughing although a wide smile still split her face. Finally, she answered, "Clark volunteered himself as a practice audience for my striptease act."

Booth felt a mixture of anger at Clark and relief that Brennan had come nowhere near to considering the offer.

"And you turned down that kind proposal, Bones?" he asked teasingly.

"Booth, he is definitely not the FBI agent I'd want to remove my clothes for," Brennan replied, entering the newly arrived elevator. Turning around, she leaned against the wall to face an annoyed Clark and a speechless Booth. As the doors slid closed, she winked at the latter and then let out another giggle, the last sound Booth heard as she disappeared from sight.

* * *

"Are you nuts?"

Brennan looked up from her computer, where she had been working on the chapter for her latest book, to see an outraged Angela Montenegro standing in her doorway.

"Nice to see you too, Angela," she said, turning to face her friend.

"Seriously, are you nuts? I mean beating up a gang leader that was pretty dumb. But this whole undercover thing is insane. And as a stripper? Bren, tell me the truth, you've lost your mind haven't you?"

Brennan smiled at the worried ranting of her friend.

"Ange, I hate to disappoint you but I'm perfectly sane. And my decision to go undercover is utterly rational."

"Rational? You're going to go into a frat house, take off your clothes, put your clothes back on, leave the house, and act as bait for a crazy serial killer who beats the crap out women and rapes them before he murders them. Yup, that is the very definition of rational right there."

Angela had moved from the doorway to lean against the desk, in close to proximity to her friend. Although her words had a hint of sarcasm in them, the fear in her eyes was real and Brennan floundered to find something reassuring to say to her friend.

"Sweetie, I get that you want to help solve the case," Angela continued. "You always do. And I even get that on some level you might identify with these women because they look like you. And before you protest about the psychology, I'll move on. But this whole undercover thing? Isn't it just a little too risky for you? It's not like going out on one of your digs in countries where people disappear every day. You're intentionally serving yourself up as bait to a psycho killer. And you're going by yourself into a situation that's going to be utterly foreign to you."

"I'm not going in by myself," Brennan interrupted, realizing just what would reassure Angela about the whole situation.

"What do you mean?"

"Booth's going to go undercover too. They've set it up so that he can pretend to be an alumnus of the fraternity coming back to visit his younger brother. I won't be alone, Ange."

"Really?" Angela asked.

"Yes," a familiar male voice intoned from the doorway.

"Booth," Brennan greeted, a hint of surprise in her a voice and a tentative smile on her face. Booth noted the uncertainty in her eyes and suddenly felt guilty for how he'd treated her the night before and that morning. She had only been being herself and he knew that, but somehow he'd felt angry that she could be so naively reckless in that way that frightened him to the core. Seeing doubt begin to creep into her expression he gave her a small smile in return. He noted the brief expression of relief that crossed her face, which was quickly replaced by her usual neutral expression.

Angela turned on the agent in the doorway, ignoring all social niceties, and began interrogating, "You're actually letting her do this?"

Booth raised his hands in mock self-defense, "Hey, I was on your side."

"Then why is she still going to pretend to be a stripper for this insane little set-up?"

"I was overruled. Your dear friend and Clark managed to convince Cullen that she was the best one for the job. I'm just following orders."

Angela gave up trying to prevent what she still thought was a crazy attempt at catching the killer and quickly switched to her favorite subject.

"So you're under orders to watch Temperance take off her clothes? That must be hard for you."

"No. I mean, yes. I mean… Bones, a little help?"

Brennan leaned back in her chair with a wicked grin, "Why? I'm enjoying this. Besides it distracts me from the thought of being naked in a room full of young, possibly drunk, men who are most likely amongst the 54 of the male species who think about sex once or several times a day."

"Bones, when there's a naked woman in front of a guy I'm pretty sure he's thinking about sex more than once," Booth said with a sly grin.

Brennan raised her eyebrows and a flush suddenly appeared on her cheekbones. Booth couldn't help but think that it made her look even more alluring. Realizing that he was about to join the 54, he turned his attention to Angela who had been watching this latest exchange of banter with a growing grin. Noticing the look that both Temperance and Booth were shooting her, she turned her attention back to the more important matter at hand.

"So you're going to be there with her every second? Nothing's going to happen to her?"

"Nothing's going to happen," Booth confirmed.

"And you're not going to be stupid are you?" Angela turned to her friend. "You're going to let him save you and not be a stubborn ass and get the crap kicked out of you just to prove that you can hit the other guy harder?"

Brennan rolled her eyes and then yelped when Angela pinched her.

"Ow. What was that for?"

"You rolled your eyes at me."

"Angela," Brennan practically whined. Now it was Booth's turn to smirk.

"Don't. Now promise you're not going to be stupid," Angela said sternly to the forensic anthropologist.

Brennan considered protesting again but ruled that it was probably safer not to.

"I promise," she said with a sigh.

"And you're not going to let anything happen to her, are you?" Angela questioned, turning a fiercely protective gaze on Booth.

"I promise," he intoned solemnly.

"Good," Angela said, striding over to Brennan's couch and plopping down with an appeased expression on her face.

"Hey Ange?" Booth began.

"Yeah?"

"How would you like it if you could make sure that Brennan was safe during this whole escapade?"

"I am not going to go in as a stripper, too," Angela interrupted, "I think one nude Jeffersonian employee is more than enough."

Booth chuckled, "That wasn't what I was going to suggest. I was going to say that I could set it up so that you can be in the support van with Clark while we're doing our undercover thing. You'll know everything that's going on. I can even set it up so that you can talk to Bones the whole time."

"Really?" Angela asked, her eyes lighting up.

"Really," Booth answered.

"Oh, this is so awesome. I have to go tell Jack. He'll be so jealous that I get to be in on an undercover mission and he doesn't," Angela trilled as she practically skipped out of Brennan's office.

Booth and Brennan exchanged smiles. The agent then stepped further into Brennan's office, sliding the door shut behind him. He took Angela's spot on the couch and Brennan got up from behind her desk to join him. Seating herself comfortably, she stared at her hands for a long moment as she gathered her nerves before turning to face Booth. They hadn't had a serious conversation since before Siobhan O'Byrne's interrogation and as Brennan glanced at her watch she noted that that had been almost twenty-four hours ago.

"So," Booth began.

"So," Brennan answered back.

"Clark's setting up the last details of this caper we're about to go on but everything looks solid for the day after tomorrow."

"That soon?"

"Hey, you can't accuse the FBI of sitting around on its ass after it's made up its mind. We're very gung-ho."

"Gung-ho?"

"Yes, Bones, it is a word."

"Technically, it's hyphenated. It's just not typically a term I would associate with you. Or the FBI for that matter."

Booth smiled and allowed his head to lean back against the couch, enjoying the silence and the company. It was quiet for a long moment and then Brennan awkwardly began to speak.

"Booth?"

"Hmm?"

"Listen, I know you're not very enthusiastic about the whole idea of my going undercover. And I know that it's not because you think that I can't do it or that you think that I can't defend myself. You were taught to protect women and you're practically brainwashed with some form of an overprotective drive suited entirely to your alpha male persona. But that's not really the point. We're friends and partners and maybe we… somehow we're more than… well, that's not important. What I meant to say was that I understand that if anything ever happened to me you'd have some issues coping with it. Angela says it's some kind of Catholic guilt thing that you've got going on. But I think you should know that I'd feel… just as awful if anything ever happened to you. So, what I'm really trying to say is that I understand on some level why you do what you do and I want to tell you that you don't have to worry about me when we're undercover. I already promised Angela, but now I'm telling you, I won't do anything… stupid."

During Brennan's speech, Booth had sat up straight and turned so that his dark eyed gaze was connected with hers and he saw the intensity and the desire to express something she hadn't entirely defined yet. She paused for a moment and looked away from him and then spoke in a low voice.

"I should have written this down. My dialogue is always better on paper."

"No, Bones, that was… it was really… it meant something to me. At least the parts that I could understand. And everything you said was right, except for maybe the male overprotective mentality. But I'm going to worry about you, no matter what, because you're you and I'm me. And that's what I do. But don't think that I don't appreciate what you're going to do. I know how important it is for you to get the bad guy and if you can help protect someone it's that much better for you. And I'm going to help you do this despite the fact that I'd rather lock you up in your lab with your bones and keep you as far away from this murderer as possible."

Brennan gave Booth a soft smile and reaching she gave his bicep a light squeeze.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Booth ducked his head before all the other emotions he felt in regards to a certain forensic anthropologist suddenly spilled out. While he was ready to discuss whatever else was between them, he knew Bones wasn't. So, he swallowed his heart out of his throat and turned back to Brennan with his charm smile.

"Ok, enough of that. How about drinks and maybe some dinner at Wong Foo's?"

"Sounds good. But I'm paying," Brennan said, a challenge for him to defy her in her expression.

Booth raised his hands in surrender, "I'm not going to argue with the woman who knows how to break my arm fifteen different ways."

Brennan smiled again and she chuckled lightly, "I know how, but at the moment I'm not that inclined."

"No? I'm surprised. I must have grown on you."

"I may not be inclined right now, but that could always change, Booth," Brennan warned, a wide smile on her face.

"Ok, no messing with the bones lady. Got it," Booth said, smiling back as he rested his hand on the small of her back and led her out of her office.

_

* * *

Did I just write some fluff? Couldn't be. Maybe it was. Did you like it? Did you believe it? Want to make suggestions, comments, bribe me with sweet treats and orange juice so that I'll write more? My muse prefers chocolate in any form but you can send it my way first and I'll pass it on. To do any or all of the above, press that tiny button below. There will be great appreciation and jubilation._


	9. Sunday Morning

Tonight's episode was un-flipping-believably fantastic. But that's beside the point. Once again I must send humble thanks to all of my awesome reviewers. You guys always make my day and all of those virtual treats are very tasty. Not to mention it gives me that extra push to write more. Hope you enjoy the results. Oh, I suppose I should mention that timeline wise this falls between The Soldier on The Grave and The Woman In Limbo.

Disclaimer: They aren't my toys. I borrowed them. I don't really want to give them back.

* * *

**Ch. 9 – Sunday Morning**

Booth shuffled his feet and took a deep breath before he knocked. He was nervous and that was utterly ridiculous. He'd spent more time with Bones in the past year than with anyone else. He'd even been here with her alone before… although that evening hadn't really ended that well. But now, standing outside of Brennan's apartment at nine o'clock on a Sunday morning he was suddenly nervous, like he was on a first date. And that definitely wasn't why he was here.

Realizing that one of Brennan's neighbors may have spotted him by this time, just standing outside of her apartment like some stalker, he knocked. Obsessing about Bones may have been one of his more frequent activities lately, but now was not the time for it. Hearing movement just beyond the solid, wooden portal labeled 2B, he straightened up and pasted his aptly named "charm smile" on his face.

Brennan opened her door and started in surprise when Booth and his charm smile greeted her. He was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt that clung to his well-defined chest muscles. Blinking to prove that he was not a figment of her imagination she managed to sputter, "Booth."

While Brennan was taking in the sight of Booth on her doorstep early Sunday morning, Booth was taking in the sight of Bones. She was clad in a white cotton tank top and striped, pale green, satin pajama bottoms. He also noted with a smile that she was wearing large, fluffy, white bunny slippers. He had a feeling they had been a gift from Angela.

"Morning, Bones."

Brennan blinked quickly, several times in succession but said nothing.

"Are you going to ask me in or are you just going to leave me standing out here in the hall all day? Because I'm pretty sure your neighbors might notice if you left me out here."

"Oh, sorry, come in. You'll have to forgive me, I haven't finished my first cup of coffee yet so I'm not quite awake."

Booth smiled and stepped over the threshold, following behind Brennan as she led the way into her kitchen, throwing an inquisitive glance at him over her shoulder. He seated himself on a stool at the breakfast bar, noting the steaming cup of coffee on the counter and the closed laptop on her kitchen table.

"Did you just get up?"

"Nah, I was up at eight. Couldn't sleep anymore with everything that's supposed to happen today running through my head. So, I took a shower and I was about to have breakfast and work on my book when you showed up."

Booth nodded and quickly swallowed the flash of anxiousness that cut through him when Brennan mentioned the plans for that night. No matter how many details he knew about the mission there was still an awful feeling in his gut and a tiny voice telling him that it wouldn't take much to lock Bones up in her lab and never let her out again. Skirting away from his trepidation he turned his full attention to the still slightly drowsy forensic anthropologist wandering around her kitchen.

"Have you had breakfast?" she asked.

"Yeah, thanks," Booth said, "but don't let me stop you from having yours."

Brennan nodded and began to pull out the ingredients she would need for French toast, oblivious to Booth studying her kitchen. He noted that all of the scorch marks had been painted over and her cupboards were a different type of wood than before. He unwillingly flinched when Brennan pulled open the door of her stainless steel fridge to pull out eggs and a carton of orange juice.

"Want some juice?" she offered, holding the container in his direction.

"Sure," Booth said, enjoying the sight of yet another different side of Bones. As she mixed the eggs and other ingredients, dipped the bread in the yellow liquid and then dropped the bread in a heated pan he noticed that the expression of concentration on her face was similar to the one she wore when she was studying her bones and it amused him.

Pulling out a plate, she stacked her toast on it, drizzled it in syrup and sat across from him, taking a long sip of coffee and biting into a mouthful of syrup-soaked French toast. Swallowing the first bit of her breakfast, she turned to Booth with an inquisitive expression.

"So what brings you here so early?"

"A couple things. First, all the details for tonight have been cemented."

"Great. Can you go over them with me again?"

"Sure. Clark checked with Mark Dalton, the Delta Phi Epsilon house manager, last night and confirmed that he'd called Peek-A-Boo to request a stripper for tonight at 9:00 p.m. Your false profile was put into their system on Friday afternoon, complete with photograph. Madeleine Brightman called me at ten last night to tell me that their network was hacked again, so we know this guy has checked you out. Clark, Angela, and I will meet with you here at 6:00 p.m. to do a last minute review of everything. Plus, we'll get all of our gadgetry, coordinate our watches so to speak. I'll leave at 7:00 p.m. Mark has announced that his older brother, me, is coming to visit him for a couple days before I get married two weeks from now. The frat is throwing me a bachelor party: the whole reason for your appearance. You leave the surveillance van where Angela and Clark will be hanging out, fifteen blocks away and take a taxi. You show up at the house at around nine and do your thing. After that, you call a cab and leave again. I will be two minutes behind you. Our guy might attack you before I can catch up so you might have to fend him off until then. We arrest him, interrogate him, and then lock him up and throw away the key. Then you and I have a drink with Angela and go home. Sound good?"

Brennan swallowed a sip of coffee and nodded, "Sounds fine. What else did you come over here to talk about?"

"It can wait until you're done eating," Booth said and flipped open the Sunday paper to the comic's section as Brennan finished her meal.

Brennan slid off her stool and landed with a solid thud on the floor. She picked up her dishes and Booth's glass, placed them in the sink, and refilled her coffee mug.

"You want some coffee?"

"I'm pretty wired already, thanks," Booth said with a smile. Brennan grinned in return and led the way to the couch in her living room. Settling herself in one corner while Booth reclined in the other. Curling her feet up under her, Brennan turned to Booth curiously.

"Ok, I'm done eating now, what else did you want to talk about?"

Booth gazed straight into Brennan's face and assured himself that he had her full attention.

"Don't do this, Bones."

"Do what?" Brennan asked confusedly.

"I am asking you, Temperance, to not go undercover," Booth pleaded, his desperation evident in every line of his face.

Brennan carefully thought out her response before she spoke, an unusual move for the usually forthright forensic anthropologist.

"Isn't it a little late now, Booth? I mean, you just told me the whole plan for tonight. It's practically set in stone. Besides, I promised you…"

"I know what you promised. But it's not enough, Bones. It's just not enough."

Brennan gave Booth a hard gaze.

"Booth, what's wrong? This is more than just your usual zeal to be an overprotective ass."

Booth snorted but quickly resumed his serious expression.

"It might be more than that," he sighed. "It is more than that. But the best thing to fix it is for you to not do this thing tonight and spend the evening in your lab instead. I'll even promise not to heckle you for it."

"No, Booth. I can't do that. This is so much more than just stopping a killer. It's about saving women who don't deserve this, who don't deserve the immeasurable pain this man will put them through. And right now, I'm the best person to do that. With your help," she added with a small smile.

Booth briefly found himself at a loss for words because her smile had reached her eyes and the green depths that occasionally appeared blue reminded him of the great importance of his argument.

"I know what this means to you, Bones. I really do. But you don't know why this whole situation petrifies me," he said softly.

"Then tell me," Brennan said, shooting Booth a long gaze that he broke away from. Reaching out she placed a light hand on his forearm, a gesture that caused him to look up into her face again in mild surprise at the gesture that she had only used once before. She spoke in a softer voice, "Tell me, Seeley."

Booth took a deep, shaky breath and released it slowly and then began to speak.

"It was the seventh case I worked on for the Bureau after I left Quantico. The first few I'd worked on had been fairly easy for me to solve and I'd already been given two cases to work as lead agent. And then Clark came to me one day and demanded my help on this profiling case he'd been working on for a couple months, while I'd been working on those six other cases.

"He and I had shared a room at Quantico and we'd gotten along pretty well. Hell, I considered him my first friend in the Bureau although we'd ended up in different departments. So I jumped at the chance to work with him.

"He had a serial murder case. Five people had been killed. There were no immediately obvious similarities between the victims. Two women and three men. They were aged anywhere between twenty-three and sixty-two. Two victims were married, one was engaged, the other two were single. All of the deaths had occurred in different states. Pennsylvania, North Carolina, Minnesota, Colorado, New Mexico. It wasn't until Clark studied where the bodies had been found and the occupations of the victims that he found the common tie: they had all been found in libraries and they had all specialized in rare books.

"We revisited all the crime scenes and interviewed the librarians. We discovered that at each scene a rare book had been stolen. Only one book per murder. The killer had taken the first editions of _A Tale of Two Cities_, _The Count of Monte Cristo_, _Anna Karenina_, _Canterbury Tales_, and _Beowulf_. After that, we combed through the personal effects of all the victims and found that in all of their day planners, on the day of their murders, they had all had an appointment with Harold Philips an hour before their estimated time of death.

"Clark was certain that our guy planned his kills long in advance so he sent out feelers to many of the country's largest rare books collections to find out if any of their employees had set up an appointment with Harold Philips. We got lucky. A young librarian in Connecticut had an appointment with our suspect, set for the next week. Her name was Kate Mahoney."

Brennan's eyes widened at the now familiar name. Booth swallowed hard, as he tried to find detachment like Bones, but his emotions crept into his voice anyway. It became unsteady as the rest of the story spilled out.

"Kate was only twenty-five. She'd gotten married the year before to a nice guy who was an English professor at the community college in the next town. She was pretty. Brown hair, blue eyes, about as tall as you. And she loved books. Loved them with the same passion that her husband loved her. They had just decided that they wanted to try and have a baby.

"Anyway, she loved books. We went to visit her in the rare books section of the local library and she stood there talking to us half the time and murmuring to her books the other half. Treated them like her children. But that section of the library… it had a smell. Not a bad smell, just a scent that I've never experienced anywhere else. It had weird lighting that wouldn't damage the books and it was sealed off from the rest of the library with a heavy, wooden door because it had special air ducts and a different heating system. It was in the basement of the building and Kate said the only thing she regretted was that her books could never see daylight because it would utterly ruin them.

"So we talked to Kate and we told her what had happened to the other five people who had had meetings with Harold. She was rightly alarmed and asked if there was anything she could do. I think she was really more concerned about any harm that might come to her books than to people. Clark and I said we needed to discuss our options and we left her.

"I wanted to catch the guy by letting him go in to meet Kate while we were waiting in the next room and just come in and apprehend him. Clark didn't like that. He wanted to know what motivated the killer, why he was killing and stealing these books. This had been his puzzle for the past few months and he wanted all the answers. So, he convinced Kate and I to set up a sting of sorts. Kate would wear a wire and proceed with the meeting as planned. Clark and I were to come in thirty minutes after the meeting was supposed to start and catch our guy. Then we'd have our suspect plus Kate's recorded conversation with him so that Clark could have all his answers."

Booth's voice cracked and he briefly closed his eyes, only to have Kate Mahoney's smiling face greet him. It had been several years ago and he'd made his peace with what had happened, but now, reliving it and with the added knowledge of what Bones was about to do that night, the memories hit him with double force. He cleared his throat and continued on while Brennan watched him with a sympathetic face.

"Everything started out according to plan. Kate went into the library's rare book section five minutes before her appointment and Clark and I waited upstairs, two aisles over from one of the stairwell entrances. We'd been waiting twenty minutes when the fire alarm suddenly went off. I immediately suspected the worst. We went down the stairs and caught a man in his mid-forties trying to sneak up. Clark cuffed him and when he patted him down he found a hand bound copy of some of Virginia Woolf's early poems and a .45 that was still warm."

Brennan's eyes widened, knowing how the story would end. She felt like the eyewitness at a car crash aware of how things would end and unable to stop it. She timidly rested a hand on Booth's back and he lifted one corner of his mouth in an attempt at a smile that came off as a grimace.

"I ran down the rest of the stairs. I can still see how everything looked when I pulled open that heavy wooden door. Nothing was disturbed; everything was in order. The air ducts were blowing out cool air but the smell… the smell that had mystified me, intrigued me, it was different. Because along with that scent of ancient paper and old leather was a tang I knew. A tang I dreaded. I knew what I'd find before I saw her but I kept running anyway, with some crazy hope that maybe I was wrong. But I wasn't. I found Kate Mahoney in her office. She'd been shot twice in the chest and once in the head. The crazy bastard shot her after she'd told him where the book was within the first five minutes of their meeting.

"I felt awful. I'd gotten to know this woman and her husband. And now I had to tell him that his wife was dead. But Clark? The only thing that bugged him was that there was nothing on the tape and that he'd have to spend weeks questioning Harold to find all the answers he wanted. And that was the point where I realized what Clark really was and what he wanted from the FBI. He just wanted something to play with; he didn't care about the repercussions. But I did and I still do."

Brennan squeezed Booth's shoulder as he finished his tale. He reached behind him and squeezed her hand once in silent thanks and then released it. Pulling her hand back, she set the cold remains of her coffee on the nearby table and turned to face Booth square on. He mirrored her actions and stared at her expectantly.

"Booth, I understand where you're coming from. I understand why you'd rather have me locked away in the Jeffersonian tonight than be in that frat house. But I am not Kate Mahoney and no one's going to shoot me. First of all, I'd kick his legs out from under him before he could pull the trigger. Second of all, this guy, he doesn't use guns. He likes to beat these women; he likes to make them scream, so even if things go wrong and something happens to me tonight, he's not going to kill me right away. Besides, I know you and I trust you. You've got my back."

Booth smiled but the expression didn't entirely wipe the fear from his eyes.

"So I guess that means that I haven't managed to convince you to stay in with your bones?"

"Sorry," Brennan replied with a wry grin. "I have to go remove my clothes in a room full of men tonight for pay. A lot more entertaining than watching Zach and Hodgins attempt to shoot spitballs at each other."

"Spitballs? Really?"

"Jack taught Zach how to make them last week. There have been several wars during the past week while waiting for lab results. Although, there may not be too many wars in the near future. Zach hit Dr. Goodman on Thursday."

Booth laughed at the image and watched Bones stand up and take her coffee cup into the kitchen. He stretched and marveled at how easily he could become accustomed to this.

"Oh Bones?" he called out.

"Yes?" she replied, popping her head around the corner of the wall bordering the kitchen.

"I think I've figured out a way to keep you from having to take off all your clothes tonight."

"Please expand," she said, unmoving from her position.

"Remember that rule Madeleine told us about?"

Brennan gave Booth a wide grin, "You, Agent Booth, are a genius."

Booth grinned in return, pleased with the compliment. Brennan's head disappeared and he heard the rattle of dishes being loaded into the dishwasher. Booth was contemplating the stack of magazines on Brennan's coffee table and wondering where she hid her Cosmo when there was a loud, insistent rapping on the door. Standing up, he strode over to it and pulled it open to reveal an astounded Angela Montenegro.

"Booth!"

Booth stepped back and felt his eyes unwillingly widen in surprise.

"Angela!"

Stepping inside quickly and shutting the door behind her, Angela sidled up to the agent and began speaking in a conspiratorial tone.

"So you spent the night? Where's Bren? Is she in the shower? If she's in the shower why aren't you in there with her? Do I smell French toast? Did you cook?"

Booth was saved from the barrage of questions when Brennan appeared in the entranceway of her question.

"Angela!"

"Hey, Bren. Sorry, I didn't know you had company," she said with a poorly disguised eyebrow twitch.

"Angela, Booth just came over to tell me some of the details about tonight. Why are you here?"

"I can't believe you forgot, Bren. We're supposed to go…"

"…shopping," Brennan finished, placing a hand on her forehead. "I completely forgot. I'm sorry. Give me five minutes and then we can go."

Angela began to protest, thinking that somehow she could prolong the private moment occurring between the FBI agent and the forensic anthropologist but was instead left with her mouth hanging open as Brennan rushed into her bedroom and closed the door. With nothing to do, the artist turned back to Booth but before she could shoot more questions at him, he interceded with a question of his own.

"You're going shopping? You and _Bones_ are going shopping?"

"Yes, Booth, people do go shopping from time to time."

"I know. It just doesn't seem like her favorite past time."

"It isn't but she asked for my help to come up with an appropriate outfit for this evening's… adventure. So we're going shopping."

Booth nodded and turned at the sound of Brennan's bedroom door opening again. She stepped out wearing blue jeans and a white tank top with black sandals on her feet. Booth couldn't help but notice that the outfit faintly mirrored his and he noted out of the corner of his eye that Angela had noticed as well.

Before he could be pulled into another of Angela's interrogation sessions that made him sweat more than is background check for the FBI, he made a quick exit, briefly telling Bones that he'd meet her back at her apartment that evening. She nodded and smiled and Angela gave him a wide grin. As he closed the door behind him, he heard the artist demand, "So what _really _happened?"

* * *

_So, what do you think? Too long? Too much talk, not enough action? Think I should work for the Bones wardrobe department? Want to send my muse and I some tasty goodies and other promises of things I will never ever get except in virtual reality? To comment or for anything else just press that little button. It makes my fictional world go 'round._


	10. Gadgets

I'm sending out huge thanks to everyone who reviewed. You guys are totally awesome and all of your promptings for more are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: They are not my toys, I just borrowed them for a little while and I promise to send them back none-the-worse for wear once Season 2 starts. Until then, I'm just going to play.

* * *

**Ch. 10 – Gadgets**

Booth resisted the urge to smack Clark over the head with the heavy-looking West African statuette that Brennan had set on top of one of her bookcases. They were seated in Brennan's apartment, waiting for her and Angela to return from their shopping marathon. Brennan had called fifteen minutes before to tell them that they were on their way back. Booth was counting every second until the two women were set to return and using all of his power to ignore Clark who was snooping through Brennan's CD collection. The other agent's murmurings were beginning to rub Booth's nerves raw, so he began to throw the key to Brennan's apartment up in the air and catch it.

The key had ended up in his possession by accident. After her refrigerator had exploded, Brennan had given the FBI agents assigned to the case her spare key after she had left the scene. The team had returned the key to Booth once the investigation had been closed and he'd continually forgotten to return it for a couple months until Brennan had just told him to keep it. She'd said it never hurt to have an FBI agent with a key to your apartment nearby in case of anything.

The sound of the key turning in the lock caused Clark to scurry over and join Booth at Brennan's kitchen table. They both turned expectant faces to the doorway and watched as twenty shopping bags and two women struggled into the apartment. Angela was laughing and Brennan was shooting her a quizzical glance.

"I don't see what's so funny," she said.

"It was just, that man had an obvious foot fetish and then when he realized who you were…" Angela burst into giggles.

"Who had a foot fetish?" Booth asked, standing up and taking a few bags from Brennan's hand. She smiled in thanks and slipped her sandals off her feet before going into the kitchen and pulling a bottle of water out of her fridge and taking a long drink.

"The man at the shoe store had a foot fetish," Angela answered, as she also pulled off her shoes, "and he fell in love with Bren's feet. And also the footwear we chose for those 'amazingly shaped' feet of hers. Then after she pulled out her credit card to pay, it turns out he's a fan and that's when he really started falling all over her. Did he actually give you his number, sweetie?" Angela asked, setting her bags down on the couch and joining Brennan in the kitchen.

"I think he put it on the back of the receipt," Brennan answered dryly, and quirked an eyebrow at Booth as if to ask, "What are you going to do?"

Booth smiled and then surveyed the bags strewn across Brennan's couch. They varied in size and color and he found himself curious as to what they contained.

"I thought you guys were just going to get clothes for tonight," he said, with a pointed look at Angela.

"I thought so too," Brennan said, "but Angela insisted that since we were shopping anyway we might as well get some other stuff."

"In other words, Angela was forcing you to get more clothes."

"Kind of. She seems to think I need some outfits for court. And for when I start doing press for my next book. Plus, some date outfits. She definitely put a ding in my wallet."

"It's a dent in your wallet," Clark said, rolling his eyes, "and as fascinating as your new wardrobe is, Dr. Brennan, we do have other things to do tonight."

The other three people in the apartment turned to the sour-faced agent and exchanged glances but said nothing. Although, they hated to admit it, the agent was correct.

"Now," Clark said as he lifted two small, black cases off the floor, laid them out on the table, and opened them, "the tech department handed over some gadgets to me this afternoon which are going to be very important for tonight."

Clark reached into the foam-lined cases and pulled out two small, flesh-colored devices, one from each case, which he handed to Brennan and Booth.

"These are your earpieces. They allow you to hear each other, Angela, and myself. Once you put them in, they're practically invisible."

Again, he reached into the cases and pulled out two tiny, black pieces of what looked like plastic.

"These are your mics. They're highly sensitive and besides picking up your own voice, no matter how quietly you're speaking, it will pick up the voices of others around you within two feet. After you've attached it to your clothes, it's going to take a gale force wind to remove it."

Brennan glanced at the two devices Clark had placed in her palm and began to realize just how real everything was about to become. After two, intense days of planning, everything was going to happen tonight.

"Finally, Dr. Brennan, this is for you," Clark said, holding out a shiny, metal circle that looked like a watch battery.

"What is it?" Brennan asked.

"A tracking device. Just in case. It will send a GPS signal to the computer in the support van and will help us locate you if you and Booth are separated or if anything else happens."

Brennan nodded, and stared at all of the small pieces of technology resting in her hand. These were her only outside forms of defense against anything that might happen that night. The rest was up to her. And Booth. If he caught up to her in time. Shaking away the morbid thoughts that had suddenly flooded her mind, she turned to Angela who was wearing a peculiar grin.

"This is totally like something out of Alias," she said.

"Ange," Booth said, "that's the CIA. We're the FBI. There is a difference."

"I know that. Besides, Bren could totally kick Sydney's ass."

"Yeah, I think so too," Booth said, shooting a grin in Brennan's direction.

"I don't know what that means," Brennan said.

They're conversation was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the telephone, which Brennan scooped up and after a brief conversation, hung up and returned back to the others.

"What was that?" Booth asked.

"Hodgins. He was just calling to inform me that his friend, the botanist, thinks she's getting close to figuring out the origin of the organic matter we found in the muscle biopsies from Carrie Matthews. She expects to have an answer for us in the next few hours. I told Hodgins to call Angela on her cell if he finds out anything else."

Angela nodded, "So what now? Marshall, I mean, Clark has handed out the gadgets. What do we do now?"

Booth smirked at the comparison of Clark to the geeky character from Alias and swallowed a laugh when the agent made a face at being compared to Marshall. He turned his attention back to his partner when she began to speak.

"Get ready to leave," Brennan said. "Booth has to be at the Delta Phi Epsilon house in forty-five minutes, which means that we should leave in about fifteen or twenty minutes."

Booth glanced at his watch and realized in surprise that Brennan was right.

"I need to go change," Brennan said, grabbing as many bags in both her hands as she could hold and headed into her bedroom. Angela followed her example stating, "She probably needs help."

Booth stuck his earpiece into his ear and attached the small microphone to his black t-shirt, near the collar.

"Hey Bones," he called out.

The bedroom door opened slightly and Brennan poked her head out.

"What?"

"I should probably leave now, but you want to test these things before I do?"

"Sure," Brennan said, closing the door again.

A minute later, her voice clearly resounded in Booth's right ear, "Can you hear me?"

"Definitely. You can hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good. I'm off then," he said. He walked out of Brennan's apartment, down the hall and was waiting for the elevator when he again heard Brennan's voice in his ear.

"Booth?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're going to be there."

"I am too."

"Hey, about your plan…"

"Yeah, I know it might be awkward but it's the best way to…"

"I know that. I was just going to say that when I wink, that's when you should break the rule."

"Got it."

"Ok. I'll see you in a couple hours."

"Wouldn't miss it."

* * *

Booth was seated on a couch in the basement of the Delta Phi Epsilon fraternity house, nursing a soda in a beer bottle. Mark Dalton came over and sat beside him and began some good-natured ribbing that suited a younger brother who's oldest sibling was getting married. In fact, Booth had to give points to all the young men in the fraternity who were all in on what the FBI had planned. What appeared to beer that many of the men were drinking had been replaced two nights ago with soda.

As he kept up his end of the conversation with Mark he attempted to ignore Angela and Clark's verbal sparring in his ear. After getting into the support van, the two had discovered a great dislike for each other and had spent the past two hours bickering. And thanks to his amazing earpiece he'd heard every word. Although he'd avoided a headache thus far he knew that one was imminent if something didn't happen in the near future to distract him.

Hearing new feet descend the stairs behind him, Booth twisted around to see another fraternity member. His name was Alex, he thought, or maybe Andrew. At any rate he was wearing a wide grin as he bounded down the last few steps into the room.

"Gentlemen," he called loudly, silencing most of the conversation in the crowded room. "I am pleased to announce that this evening's entertainment has just arrived."

A rowdy cheer went up from the collected group of college boys. Alex/Andrew returned to the base of the stairs and called up, "Chastity, we're waiting."

Booth, along with all the other men in the room, craned their necks to watch the stairs. As feet and then legs appeared as Brennan walked down the stairs slowly another cheer went through the small crowd. As Booth watched Brennan descend into the room he felt his stomach flip-flop although all he'd seen thus far was her feet and calves and then the top of her head. He'd definitely found that something to distract himself from his formerly imminent headache.

As Brennan walked towards one end of the room, the men in front of her parted like the Red Sea. Booth couldn't see her in the crowd and it wasn't until she turned to face his seat on the couch and the frat boys surrounding him moved out of her way that he got a clear view. Seeing his entire partner, from head to foot, for the first time since he'd left her apartment earlier that evening, he swallowed. This undercover thing was going to be a lot harder than he'd originally thought. Because right now he wanted to chase every other man out of the room.

* * *

_That's right, I am just cruel enough to leave it hanging right there. I apologize for how short this chapter is but I needed to get some of this out of the way before we can get to the fantastically good stuff that is coming up in the next few chapters. I promise that there will be some stripping in the next chapter. Want to make sure you get that chapter ASAP? Hit that tiny button. It makes my muse and I ever so happy._


	11. Undercover

You guys rule! I would like to, at this moment, send out virtual gifts of chocolate to every one of you who reviewed. I've received so many bribes, I think it's my turn to return the favor. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: It doesn't change. Every time I say it, it's the same. They're not mine. I don't think even a Jeannie blink could change it. Sigh. Oh and the song made reference to in this chapter is "Ice" by Sarah McLachlan.

* * *

**Ch. 11 – Undercover**

Booth swallowed hard and found his mouth was suddenly abnormally dry. Brennan was standing there, near the center of the room, and every single pair of eyes in the room were on her. And Booth couldn't blame them, although he was still resisting the urge to physically remove all the other men in the room. Or cover Bones in a tablecloth. Either would work really.

He had to admit that Angela had done an amazing job on the wardrobe. It wasn't what he would have imagined was a typical stripper's outfit, but somehow it fit Brennan. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a loose bun and her make-up was darker and thicker than she usually wore it, causing her light eyes and skin to look more luminous. She was clad entirely in black. She was wearing a dress with a low V-neckline, overtop of which was a low-cut blazer. The dress ended at least two inches above her knees leaving an expanse of leg, covered by black nylons, exposed. But perhaps the most alluring part of her outfit was the stiletto boots that shod her feet. They reached an inch below her knee and made her already long legs appear that much longer. A voice suddenly spoke in his ear.

"Booth, did Brennan just walk in?" Angela asked.

"Yes," he answered in a low voice.

"How's she look?"

"Good… uh… she looks… really good."

Angela smiled at how flustered the FBI agent sounded. She'd made sure that Brennan would be the sexiest she had ever looked that night, if only because one Seeley Booth would also be present. The more help she could give her favorite non-couple to become a couple, the better. Catching sight of Clark out of the corner of her eye, her smile turned into a frown. After over two hours in the cramped support van with the man, she now understood exactly why Booth disliked him so much. He was insufferable. Her inner ranting was interrupted when Brennan's voice floated over the speakers.

"I don't think I can do this."

It was Brennan's voice in his ear. He focused on her face and realized that her lips weren't moving while she spoke. Who would have thought that ventriloquism was one of her many talents.

"Sweetie, of course you can do this. You're just playing a part. It's like a play. Just pretend you're in your high school drama class," Angela said reassuringly.

"I didn't take drama in high school. I did an independent study on the development of the use of corn and maize in Argentina during the nineteenth century instead."

"Of course you did," the artist said with a sigh.

"Angela, now is not the time to lecture me on my lack of social skills and all of the elements that I missed growing up. These men are staring at me and they expect me to do something. I'm pretty sure the charm of this outfit is only going to last so long."

"Right, ok. Sweetie, listen to me, what you need to do is ignore everyone in that room. Pretend none of them are there. Just imagine that you're at home, in your bedroom, performing a striptease for this amazing man that you've met. Can you do that?"

"I think so."

Booth listened to the conversation going on in his right ear and watched in amazement as Brennan's posture changed from one of uncertainty to utter confidence as Angela spoke to her. He almost started in surprise when her lips moved again but realized that she was speaking to one of the frat boys who was standing just to her left. He watched as she handed him a CD and murmured a few instructions, which were fed through his earpiece, but he didn't comprehend them. He was enthralled with the way her hips swayed as she sauntered into the center of room.

Someone dimmed the lights slightly on the sides of the room and left the area where Brennan was standing brighter, creating a stage-like effect. No one stood between Booth and the forensic anthropologist, leaving his view unimpeded. Waiting for her music, Brennan's eyes scanned the crowded room and suddenly locked with the dark brown depths belonging to her partner.

Booth watched in awe as a seductive haze suddenly appeared in Brennan's eyes. The music suddenly flooded out of the speakers, the soft strains of an acoustic guitar filled the room and then the light, ethereal voice of a woman began to sing. The only words he understood were "The ice is thin, come on dive in" before he was lost in Brennan's every move.

She rolled her head back slightly and reached up to release her hair, which fell down in wild waves that framed her face. When she brought her head back to its former position she again locked eyes with Booth and didn't break away from his gaze. The blazer was removed next, slowly sliding down her arms to the floor, revealing the thin straps of the dress that contrasted with the white expanse of her skin.

Booth felt a flush rush up his neck and across his face as Brennan took a step forward and artfully arched backwards as she reached with her right hand to undo the zipper on her back. The moment was coming closer when Brennan would be standing there… It happened. In the blink of an eye, the dress had hit the floor leaving Brennan standing there in a set of black lace underwear. Booth felt every man in the room breathe a sigh of appreciation at the sight of the garters holding up Brennan's nylons, her legs appearing even longer than before.

Suddenly a drumbeat sounded through the room and Brennan stepped forward with a steady step and suddenly she was stalking her way towards him, planting each foot at the solid thud of the drum. Before Booth truly understood what was happening, Brennan was standing before him. Booth was suddenly grateful to be sitting down because he was certain parts of his anatomy would have been noticeably visible had he been standing. Attempting to stop the torrent of inappropriate thoughts racing through his brain, he attempted to think about his partner in a purely professional fashion. Really she was wearing the equivalent of a bikini, in fact there was even more clothes involved. Nothing out of the ordinary. No reason to be excited. No reason to want to blindfold every other man in the room. No need to whisk Brennan away and say to hell to the serial killer that was most likely waiting for her out there. His rationalizations were working… until Brennan bent down, rested her palms on his thighs and began to sway and bend in a way he found indescribably sexy.

All of the air rushed out of his lungs and he had to think hard as to how to inhale. He was lost in the smoky gaze of his partner who was well on her way to seducing him. And suddenly she winked. That wink. It was supposed to mean something. Something important. He was supposed to do something. Suddenly she was inside his head, speaking and he realized that his earpiece was picking up her voice although her lips remained stationary.

"Booth, you really need to break that rule now."

Booth caught himself before he nodded and suddenly reached out a hand that trembled only slightly and using only one finger, traced a faint line down her chest towards her belly button. The next few moments were a flurry of activity as Brennan slapped his hand away and then slapped him. He watched in fascination as she loudly proclaimed that she was ending this performance. The rules had been broken. She was under no obligation to stay. Several of the men in his vicinity shot him dirty looks and a general grumbling could be heard about the aborted end to Brennan's dance. Alex/Andrew appeared at Brennan's side, her discarded clothing in his hand, and he escorted her back upstairs, much to Booth's relief. His restraint would not have lasted much longer.

Angela's voice echoed in his ear, "Is it over?"

"Yes," Booth and Brennan answered simultaneously with a sound of relief in their voices.

"Alright, Temperance," Clark chimed in, "you know what to do now, right?"

"I'm going to get dressed. Then I'm going to call a cab."

"Good, let me know…"

Booth was suddenly unable to hear anything from his earpiece. Someone had decided to crank up the stereo and the bass was suddenly thumping, causing his seat to vibrate. He turned to Mark who shrugged in apology and headed off to find the offender.

Angela started at the loud music flooding in from Booth's mic and then stared in surprise when Clark suddenly cut off the connection to both Booth's mic and earpiece.

"What did you do that for?" she asked accusingly.

"It would have caused some painful feedback. I'll turn it back on in a couple minutes, and see if it isn't so loud."

Angela glared at the agent suspiciously but was prevented from asking more questions when Brennan's voice filled the van.

"Ok, I'm dressed again and I called the cab a couple minutes ago. What should I do now?"

"Wait two minutes and then leave," Clark answered.

"And Booth will be right behind me?" Brennan asked uncertainly.

"Right behind you. I'll tell him to leave in just a sec," Clark said firmly.

Angela was mentally picturing all of the things she would love to do to Clark that could possibly cause him pain and missed his latest lie when her cell phone rang. Clark glared at her and she matched him with one of equal intensity.

"I'll answer it outside," she said shortly, sliding the van door open and stepping out into the fresh evening air. Clark slammed the door closed behind her.

Brennan checked her watch for the thirtieth time that evening and found that the two minutes that Clark had set out for her had finally elapsed. Taking a deep breath, she waved goodbye to Alex, the fraternity member who had escorted her through the house, and stepped out into the dark, quiet street. As she walked down the sidewalk, her heels clicked solidly against the pavement, the only sound in the still night. She was slightly unnerved by the silence in her earpiece. Booth should have said something since she left the basement but except for a brief snippet of loud music, she'd heard absolutely nothing from him. And after the ringing of what she imagined to be a cell phone, she'd heard nothing from the support van either. The lack of voices made her feel alone and she was suddenly jittery and skittish. Despite the fact that she knew she could handle anything that might come her way that night, waiting for the first blow to fall out of nowhere made her undeniably anxious. She suddenly wished that Booth wasn't so far behind her. Five minutes was a long time.

Angela slid the door back open with a bang.

"We have a problem," she announced.

Clark turned to face her and quirked an eyebrow, "What, you broke a nail?"

"No you idiot, Hodgins… hang on a sec, is Booth's mike and earpiece still off?"

Clark turned back to the panel of computers, knobs and switches laid out before him. With a grimace he realized he'd forgotten to flip Booth's equipment back on and did so now. Booth's voice, laced with panic, flooded the van and poured out the still open door.

"Clark, can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear. We had some technical difficulties for a few minutes but everything's back to normal now," Clark said.

"Where's Bones?" Booth asked, the panic still audible.

"She left the house…" Clark checked his watch, "ten minutes ago."

Booth swore under his breath. Brennan was further ahead of him than they'd planned. He strode out of the frat house and into the street, following the same route she had taken, his heart beating fast and he barely managed to keep himself from running. As he strode down the street, he heard a brief groan in his earpiece.

"Bones?"

"It wasn't me."

Clark's voice sounded out clearly, "Son of a bitch! You punched me!"

Booth realized quickly that Angela must have struck the FBI agent and that meant that she was truly pissed.

"Ange, what's going on?" Booth asked.

"He deserved it. He turned off your mike and earpiece before and now Temperance is much further ahead of you than she should be. But that's not important. Jack just called."

"Did the botanist identify the compound?" Brennan asked.

"Yes, she said it's derived from the _Cicatrix acerbitas_ which is an indigenous plant in Uruguay."

At the Latin name of the plant, Brennan felt her insides tighten. This was far worse than they'd originally thought. She'd seen what the serum created from that plant could do and she suddenly knew that she was in far over her head.

"And what does this magical plant do?" Booth asked impatiently.

"The plant itself does nothing," Angela answered, "but when it's mashed up and boiled in fat it forms a serum that induces temporary paralysis."

"Paralysis? And this was found in Carrie Matthews' muscle biopsies?"

"Yes," Angela replied.

"Hang on. Does that mean that…"

Brennan suddenly lost all track of the conversation going on in her right ear when she heard a high whistling sound and then felt something prick the flesh of her left shoulder blade. Seconds later, it began to go numb. She quickly began to lose sensation in her arm and felt the numbing effect spread across her body. She knew that in a matter of seconds she'd be unable to stand, let alone throw a punch. Knowing that the perpetrator was in the near vicinity she again used her talent of ventriloquism.

"Guys, we have a problem," Brennan's soft voice practically whispered in Booth's ear.

"What?" he asked, the panic he'd just managed to quell rising up again.

"I think I was just hit by a dart. I can't move my arms and my legs are going numb."

Fear shot through Booth like a thunderbolt and he quickly realized that every nightmare he'd had about this scenario was quickly becoming a reality. Brennan was alone and defenseless with a serial killer waiting nearby.

He began to run down the street, his arms and legs pumping through the air. Brennan needed him. Temperance needed him. His Bones needed him. Now.

Brennan heard more than felt herself fall to the ground. At some point she'd become resigned to what was about to happen to her. Perhaps it was the serum that had initiated this sudden disconnection between her mind and her body but she found herself staring up in curiosity and not fear, waiting for a killer to scoop her up.

Booth was running like his life depended on it. Maybe it did. He knew somehow that if something happened to Bones that his entire existence would never be the same. His earpiece picked up the sound of her body hitting the ground. It cut to his heart and he knew that she was lying ahead of him utterly helpless, alone, and most likely afraid, although she'd never admit it. He ran faster.

Brennan's view of the hazy sky was suddenly blocked by a dark, hooded figure.

"I've been waiting for you," it said in a low, masculine voice.

* * *

_I am the queen of cruel cliffhanger endings. And very proud of it. So what did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Want to help break the 200 mark for reviews? Want to make suggestions for the dramatic things to come? To do any or all of the above you know what button to push._


	12. On The Road

Many apologies for not updating sooner (especially to those of you who insisted that everything would go to hell in a hand basket if I didn't do so soon), I had to leave town for a couple days and I had no computer. And then I was distracted by all of those other wonderful fics on this website. But I want to thank you for your overwhelming and FANTASTIC reviews. Congrats on breaking the 200 mark.

Disclaimer: I like to play with them, but they're not mine (unfortunately).

* * *

**Ch. 12 – On the Road**

Staring up at the man whose face was hidden by the hood of his sweatshirt, Brennan suddenly lost her disinterest in what happened to her. This lack of control terrified her and she turned her terror into anger. As the man knelt down and stroked her cheek, she swallowed her revulsion.

Taking a deep breath, she began to shout, "HELP! HELP ME PLEA…"

Her cries were aborted when the man socked her in the jaw, the impact stunning Brennan. Stars were literally bursting on her sight, something she hadn't seen since her initial self-defense training. The man bent close to her ear and whispered, "You want to stay conscious, don't speak. You pull another stunt like that and I'm going to have to gag you, got it?"

Brennan nodded but her eyes were blazing with fierce anger. Her attacker pulled back from her and laughed when he saw the murder in her eyes.

"You're a feisty one, aren't you? That's good. The last girl… she cried a lot. She went too easy. But you'll fight, I can tell. I'm so glad."

Brennan's outrage rose at this last but she was again filled with terror when the man scooped her up off the ground and threw her over his shoulder.

"Booth!" she whispered harshly.

Booth heard the panic and fear that was wrapped inside that one word and ran faster. When he answered his voice was forced and uneven, "What's happening, Bones?"

"He… he picked me up and he's carrying me…" she suddenly stopped speaking.

Booth tapped his earpiece and then demanded loudly, "Clark! Clark, what happened? Is she still connected?"

"She's still there," Clark reassured him, ignoring the petrified gaze of Angela who was seated next to him.

"Bones?" Booth asked, as he spotted his car parked at the corner.

There was no response, but Booth heard a grunt and then the familiar metallic sound of handcuffs closing. It was quickly followed by the thud that only a body could make and finally Booth heard the familiar clang of a trunk lid closing.

"Bones?" he asked again.

"I'm here. He just put me in the trunk of his car."

"Did you…"

"Dark green Honda Civic. Virginia plates. We were almost at the corner of 34th and M Street. The car's just started. We're moving," Brennan said in that detached tone she used when she was analyzing remains on her table.

Booth felt an inward appreciation that Bones could still be logical, cool, and collected. Her analytical mind was a definite advantage at this point, he thought as he finally arrived at his behemoth of a vehicle, slid inside and started the engine in one smooth motion.

"I'm right behind you, Bones," he said reassuringly as he pulled out into traffic.

Before he could even ask, Clark was feeding directions in his ear. Despite everything he had done that night, Booth was still grateful for the agent's foresight in giving Brennan the tracking device that allowed them to follow her closely. Pulling to a halt at a stoplight, Booth spotted the car holding his partner two vehicles ahead of him.

"I can see your car, Bones. How you doing?"

"I still can't feel my limbs, I'm handcuffed, and I'm locked in a trunk of a car. But otherwise I'm fine."

Booth smiled briefly at Brennan's dry humor but quickly became serious again. Even though he was so close to her, there were still a million things that could go wrong. A million things could happen to her just outside of his reach and it angered and frightened him.

"So, what's the plan for getting me out of here?" Brennan asked.

Clark answered before Booth could even open his mouth, "We're going to have to wait until you get wherever you're going. If Booth tries to bust you out of that car trunk right now, too many things could go wrong. Not to mention that seeing a large, angry man stalking towards his car would undeniably scare our killer. So you're just going to have to wait this one out, Dr. Brennan."

Booth tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Although he hated to admit it, Clark was right. There was nothing they could do for Bones at that moment. They were going to have to wait. As he turned onto the highway, now three cars behind the one that Brennan was stowed in, he realized that the trip might be longer than originally anticipated.

Brennan bit her lip as she stared into the darkness. Nothing was visible but she found keeping her eyes open gave her a sense of control in a situation far beyond controllable. Inwardly, she was almost grateful that she couldn't feel her limbs at the moment. In this small space they would have cramped almost immediately. However, she knew that the numbness would be followed by something worse which she mentally skirted away from but then faced head on. She couldn't afford to ignore this and she needed to tell Booth before it was too late. But before she did there was something else that needed to happen first.

"Ange," she said softly.

"I'm here, sweetie."

"I know. I need you to do me a favor."

"Anything."

"I need you to get out of that van. You can go back to the lab, back to my apartment, you can even just sit in your car and wait but I need you to leave that van."

"Bren, why… what did I… why?"

"There are some things that are going to happen and I don't want you to hear it. I don't want anyone to hear it but I really don't want you to hear it."

"Sweetie, are you sure?"

"I'm very sure. Please do this for me," Brennan almost pleaded.

"Ok, hon, I'm getting out now. I love you."

"Love you too."

Brennan heard the distant sound of the support van door sliding open and then slamming shut again. The latter sound overlapped with Booth's voice in her ear.

"Bones, what's going on? What do you know that would cause you to send your best friend away?"

Brennan was silent for a moment, trying to think of the best way to divulge the information and decided that her usual straightforward manner would serve her best.

"Bones?" Booth prompted in her ear.

"_Cicatrix acerbitas_ doesn't only cause temporary paralysis," she began.

"What else does it do?" Booth asked warily.

"One summer during my undergrad…"

"Bones, do you really have to tell a story?" Booth asked, attempting to sound flippant and failing miserably, the fear blatantly obvious in his voice.

"Yes. One summer during my undergrad, my boyfriend, Nick, and I went on an archaeological dig in Uruguay. There was a large burial site and it was a dream experience for both of us. On one of our days off, we went to a remote village about thirty miles from our campsite. There were only about seventy people who lived there and they were preparing for a hunt," Brennan paused and winced as she banged her head when the car went over a pothole.

"Preparing for a hunt?" Booth repeated, prompting her to continue and using all of his restraint to avoid asking about the light bang he'd just heard. She'd only deny everything to make him feel better and he knew that that would only make him feel worse. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he kept both eyes on the Honda that was now in the right lane, two cars ahead of him.

"Yes. They were using traditional means and weapons. The spears fascinated Nick, who was planning on becoming an archaeologist. There were several lined up along the wall of a house and he picked one up, knocking over a few of the others in the process. One of the spears that fell cut his arm. It wasn't deep but it was enough. The spear points had been boiled in _Cicatrix acerbitas_.

"Within minutes, Nick couldn't move. I was frightened. I didn't know what to do. It was too far to drive back to our camp for help and there was only a first-aid station there. A real hospital was over ninety miles away. About half an hour after Nick had cut his arm, one of the men in the village gave Nick a branch to bite on. When _Cicatrix acerbitas_ begins to wear off it causes an unbearably painful burning sensation in the muscles. The pain only lasts about ten minutes but when Nick and I talked about it later, he said it felt like hours. I've never seen anyone in such pain before. All I could do was sit there and hold his hand while he weathered his way through that agony. I just thought you should know."

At the words "unbearably painful", Booth had felt a lightening sharp pain cut through him. Although Brennan's entire speech had been delivered in that detached, scientific tone that she used when detailing injuries to a corpse he knew that she was afraid. And he knew from personal experience that the fear of imminent pain was frequently worse than the pain itself. As he glanced at the clock on his dashboard he realized that he had been driving for almost twenty-five minutes.

"Bones, we're nearing the half hour mark," he said gently.

"I know," she said softly.

"I just… I want you to know… I'm here. Talk to me," Booth almost pleaded.

"I'll… I'll try," she answered, almost inaudibly.

Booth drove in silence for a few minutes waiting in dread for the first sounds of Brennan's imminent suffering. In a corner of his mind he thought that this was the worst torture he'd ever suffered. Over the course of the rest of the evening he'd discover he'd never been more wrong.

It began as a tingle, similar to the feeling when circulation is restored to a limb, Brennan noted. The tingling sensation quickly coursed through her body and she breathed a sigh of relief at once again being capable of moving her arms, legs, toes, any and every body part that she could. One minute later she was desperately wishing for the numbness to return. Being immobile was far more preferable to this agony. Her breathing suddenly became labored as she strove to keep the exclamations of pain bottled within. She bit her lip so hard that she tasted blood. Soon she could no longer hold her cries in and she let out brief hoarse sobs of pain, trying to limit the sound she made in an effort to protect Booth. In a part of her mind that hadn't been consumed by the overwhelming sensations her body was sending to her brain, she knew that every sound she made would hurt her partner, possibly more than the agony she was currently suffering. Two minutes later, Brennan couldn't form a coherent thought as she writhed in pain.

The hoarse cries resounding in his ear were tearing at Booth's insides in a way he didn't think was possible. In an effort to distract himself from the sobs of pain, he began making a mental list of all the things he was going to do to Clark when he saw him next. There was no doubt in his mind that everything that was happening was entirely Clark's fault and as soon as Brennan was safe he was going to make it his mission to make Clark's life a living hell. He was distracted from his thoughts when underneath Brennan's cries he heard the unmistakable sound of masculine laughter. The son of a bitch was laughing, laughing at Brennan's sufferings. Booth clenched his fists. He amended his list. This bastard came in above Clark as the recipient of his fury.

Brennan vaguely heard the laughter from inside the car and attempted to feel anger towards her captor in an effort to distract herself from her pain but failed. The agony was still too intense for her to spend much time thinking about anything else.

Booth noted with relief that the cries in his earpiece were becoming less frequent and not as harsh. He again glanced at the lighted clock on the dash and noted in surprise that ten minutes had almost elapsed. As Brennan had predicted, it had felt like hours. He then peered out his windows and realized that there was less and less traffic as they moved on. He slowed down and watched the Civic pull away from him, the taillights becoming two tiny red pinpoints on the horizon ahead of him. The road sign ahead of him read "Welcome to Fauquier County, Virginia". A few miles later he noticed a smaller sign reading "Welcome to The Plains, pop. 266". Booth was frowning as a new realization dawned on him when a weak voice whispered hoarsely in his ear.

"Booth?"

"Hey," he faked a smile that she couldn't see, "how are you?"

"I've been better," she said dryly, the exhaustion evident in her voice.

"I can imagine," Booth said, his brow creasing in worry as the distant Honda turned onto a rural road that could only lead into the large farm country prevalent in Virginia.

Rattling and bumping along, Brennan assumed that the vehicle was now going down a gravel road.

"Booth, where are we?"

"Rural Virginia."

"Booth, we need to discuss something," Clark's voice intruded, surprising both the agent and his partner, who had both forgotten that he was listening as well.

"What?" Booth said, equally exasperated and angry at the intrusion.

"Our guy is heading onto some pretty secluded roads based on Brennan's tracking device. These are quiet roads, very little traffic. And I'm pretty sure that you're SUV is going to stand out, even at a fair distance back. It's not a typical vehicle for the area and he's definitely going to notice you. You might scare him and that would not bode well for Dr. Brennan."

"What are you saying, Clark?" Booth asked, already knowing the answer but wanting Clark to say it for Brennan's benefit.

"You need to pull over. Now."

"You're going to leave me?" Brennan asked softly, the gentle plaintive note in her voice cutting Booth to the core.

"I'm not leaving you," he protested as he pulled his behemoth of a vehicle to the edge of the road, "I'm just going to be a little bit further behind you. And I'll be in your head the whole time."

Silence was his only response for a long moment and then he heard Brennan release a deep breath that signaled she had reached a conclusion.

"Tell Angela I love her," she began, "Make sure that Zach finishes his PhDs and don't let Hodgins unleash his bugs in my office. And Seeley, I want to tell you…"

Booth swallowed the aching lump in his throat and interrupted, "Don't you dare, Temperance."

"What?"

"Don't say goodbye. Everything is going to be fine. We'll get you out of this none-the-worse-for-wear and we'll go back to being Bones and Booth, stopping bad guys by day and eating Chinese food by night."

"I'm not… saying goodbye," Brennan protested.

"You're still a horrible liar, Bones."

"Booth, just let me do this."

"No."

"But I don't want you to feel guilty."

"I won't, because everything is going to be fine. I'm only going to be ten minutes behind you."

"Booth, if you've learned anything tonight it should be that a hell of a lot can happen in ten minutes."

He couldn't argue.

* * *

_How much do you hate me now? I'm pretty mean with those cliffhanger endings. Love writing them, hate reading them elsewhere. Delightful double standard. Anyway, loved it? Hated it? Want to make suggestions? Want to write Booth's list of torturous things to do to Clark? To do any or all of the above (plus, to make my muse and I, review addicts both, very happy) just press that little button._


	13. The Afflicted

As always, huge thanks for your awesome reviews. They make my muse and I very, very happy.

Disclaimer: While waiting for Season 2 to commence I've borrowed them in an effort to entertain myself. They never have been, nor are, nor will be mine.

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**Ch. 13 – The Afflicted**

Booth floundered for something to say to reassure Brennan, something that would encourage her, something that would let her know that he was there, that he was coming, that he cared. He couldn't find anything. His earpiece had been alarmingly silent after her aborted goodbyes; apparently she couldn't find anything to say either. The only sound audible was the familiar rattle of a car driving on gravel roads and he could imagine her being jounced roughly in the small trunk of the Honda. He'd give anything to comfort her but found himself at a loss. Words weren't enough this time but action was impossible. It twisted his gut to think of her bound and alone with a serial killer, incapable of properly defending herself.

Brennan stared unseeingly into the darkness and considered making another attempt at saying a proper goodbye to Booth. She knew from experience that words left unsaid could haunt you and she wanted to let Booth know how much he meant to her before she couldn't say anything. But he wouldn't let her. She knew that he thought that if he admitted that something could happen to her, it would. As if admitting to the possibilities of reality would make it real. She was about to blurt out everything she needed to tell him when she felt the car slow. Her eyes widened in alarm.

"Booth, we've stopped," she whispered.

Booth felt his gut tighten and he attempted to swallow his guilt and fear as he turned the key in the ignition. He pushed Brennan's words to the back of his mind. He would not think of what could happen in ten minutes. As he drove down the country roads, Clark's occasional direction in his ear, he began to pray under his breath.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our… death."

Brennan barely heard the voices in her ear although she vaguely recognized that Booth had finished the Hail Mary and had moved on to what she thought might be the litany. Her brief brush with the Catholic Church had been during a funeral for a friend of her parents when she was thirteen. She'd found the even chanting reassuring then, but now it simply reminded her that Booth was near and was coming. That thought reassured her more than the words he was saying.

The car had slowed to a halt what felt like hours ago and her exhausted muscles were once again taut in anticipation of the moment when the trunk lid would open and her captor's face would appear. Despite her tension she could barely keep her head up, the wracking pain of only a few minutes before having left her weak and sapped of energy. Fighting back was going to be next impossible but she vowed to make an effort anyway.

She heard the car door slam and the crunch of footsteps on gravel. Had they stopped at the edge of the road? Keys scraped lightly against the trunk, which popped open shortly thereafter. She caught a brief glimpse of her captor in the dark night, framed by a sky full of stars before she lashed out with her booted left foot and connected solidly with his solar plexus. The air whooshed out of his lungs as Brennan struggled to a sitting position in the trunk. She attempted to follow up with another blow but found that the last of her available energy stores had been consumed by that single kick. She was barely able to stay upright and as she struggled to just get out of the car, her abductor slowly recovered. Brennan had just managed to hang her other leg over the edge of the trunk when she was backhanded and saw stars for the second time that evening.

"Feisty," the man muttered under his breath. "Good thing you can barely sit up now, I wouldn't want to have to fight with you over the footbridge."

Before Brennan could process what he had said, the killer had scooped her up in a fireman's carry, leaving her to watch the growing distance between themselves and the parked car, the trunk lid still hanging open. The grass below her head was a lush green and in need of being mown. There was the faint scent of manure in the air and she thought that she could hear the distant lowing of cows. They were on a farm. A large farm, based on the distance they had covered since they'd left the car at the side of the road. She soon heard a faint trickling sound. Obviously they were nearing the footbridge he'd mentioned earlier. It was a narrow wooden construction, barely two feet wide and only three feet long. They walked for another few minutes, climbing a mild slope. Shifting her weight slightly, Brennan was able to catch sight of a large wooden structure. A barn she realized.

The man carrying her slowed and then set her down on the ground. She briefly considered getting up and attempting to run but she knew that her energy would be better used if she conserved it for a moment when she was more certain of a positive income. As she watched her captor slide the heavy door open and disappear inside she allowed her head to fall forward onto her knees, her mouth now in closer proximity to her microphone.

"Where are you?" she asked, her voice so light it was almost inaudible.

"I'm getting closer to where Clark says your car stopped almost ten minutes ago. Where are you?"

"Near a barn. Booth, I… the _Cicatrix acerbitas, _it… I'm exhausted. I can barely hold my head up. I can't fight him off. There's no way I can fight him off. I can't…" her voice broke and she stopped speaking, her head sinking even lower.

Booth heard the unspoken request for him to hurry and pressed his foot down further on the gas pedal. His Bones needed him and there was no way he was going to regret not letting her say goodbye.

Brennan lifted her head up and leaned it against the rough wood at her back. The sky was shimmering with stars and she stared at them, naming constellations, listing the names of all the satellites in the solar system, attempting to distract herself from whatever was going to happen next. She shifted her weight and winced as the metal handcuffs cut deeper into her wrists. She was in the middle of making a list of things she wanted to do if she ever got back to her lab when heavy footsteps approached.

"Are you ready to play?" the newly familiar voice asked.

"No, you son of a bitch," Brennan spat out.

"There's no need for profanity," he said as he once again scooped her up off the ground.

"Then what should I call you?" Brennan asked, blinking as they entered the brightly lit barn.

"You can call me Charlie."

Charlie dumped Brennan on a square bale of hay and then climbed out of sight. Brennan took the opportunity to examine her surroundings. It was a large barn that was used only to store bales of hay and straw. She was seated roughly in the center of it and she saw that there were two doors, one at either end, the one that they had used still hanging open. On her left was a ladder that offered access to the hayloft above her head. The loft extended outwards from three of the walls ten feet above her, and was dark, making it impossible to determine how far up the structure extended. Charlie had disappeared up there and she heard a metallic clanking emanating from some point above and behind her. The main floor was lit by five large spotlights set up on stands of approximately six feet in height. The metallic clanking had now evolved into the recognizable sound of a chain rattling. Brennan craned her neck and watched as a heavy chain with a metal hook at one end descended down towards her. As it landed beside her on the bale, she again spotted Charlie who was now clambering down the ladder, the other end of the chain held tightly in his right hand.

Brennan let her head fall back and she stared up into the darkness. Based on the sound of metal links sliding against each other she determined that the chain was connected to a pulley near the ceiling that was most likely used to lift bales off the main floor of the barn up into the loft. Charlie wrapped his end of the chain around a large hook attached to the wall adjacent to the entrance they had used. As he walked towards her, Brennan attempted to keep all signs of fear out of her face, letting only anger and defiance dominate her expression. She would not let this bastard see that she was afraid.

Charlie walked around the bale and grabbing the hook that had landed next to her, attached it to the chain of her handcuffs. Then coming around to face her, he crouched down so that he was at eye level with her and studied her for a long moment. Brennan glared at him but he merely chuckled at the intensity of the hatred in her eyes. He stared for a few moments longer.

"I can't believe it. You're her."

Brennan felt uncertainty well up within herself but wouldn't let it show. The likelihood of this man recognizing her was slim but she was more wary of the man in front of her. She watched as a delighted smile crossed Charlie's face.

"You are her. I can't believe I found her. You bitch. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" Brennan asked, suddenly confused. This man obviously hadn't recognized her from the photo on the dust jacket of her book.

"We were happy, you know. My parents were happy. My life was good. And then you just waltzed in with your skimpy outfits and a shake of your hips and ruined everything. Absolutely everything. My father left because of you. And then you broke him. Took his money and walked away. And he never came back. You ruined my life, you bitch," he said harshly and backhanded her.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've never met your father," Brennan protested as the man roughly hoisted her upwards and kicked away the bale she'd been sitting on, leaving her to stand unsteadily, the cool metal of the chain seeping through her clothing and chilling her.

"Of course you have," Charlie said, and laughed harshly. "Oh well, not you exactly, but it was you. She's there, in you. It's in the eyes. And now I'm going to save you from her because you don't want to live with her in you. You don't want to be like her."

Brennan creased her brows in confusion. The man was no longer making sense. He was babbling incoherently. She considered asking further questions but didn't when Charlie suddenly turned away from her and disappeared behind her. When he reappeared in her sightline, she felt her eyes involuntarily widen in alarm. This evening was headed in a whole new direction.

Charlie approached her holding a bamboo staff in his hands. It was maybe five feet in length and he balanced it lightly in his palms, a pensive expression on his face. He suddenly flipped it so that he was clasping it tightly in his right hand, holding it upright and at a slight angle.

"You'll thank me for this," he said seriously to Brennan.

The length of bamboo whistled through the air as he swung it towards her. When it connected with her ribs, causing a sharp, stinging sensation and raising an immediate welt on her skin she unwillingly sobbed out the name of the one man that could help her in small voice.

"Booth."

Upon hearing Brennan choke out his name in a voice laced with pain and fear, Booth felt his blood run cold. His SUV skidded to a halt behind the Honda Civic and he leaped out of it, grabbing his gun from beneath the driver's seat. As he slammed the door shut, he let the last phrase of the litany that he could remember slide over his lips.

"Comforter of the afflicted, pray for us."

He began to run quietly across the field, the lighted barn faintly visible in the distance. His stealth training had never been more useful or important in his entire life as he sprinted silently. As he ran, Clark informed him that back up would be at Brennan's location in fifteen minutes. Too late to be of any real help. Saving Brennan would be up to him.

Brennan again tasted blood in her mouth as she bit her lip to prevent crying out. There was no way in hell she would offer the bastard who was beating her the pleasure of hearing her make any sound of discomfort. Her body was burning with pain that was interspersed by lightening bursts of agony when the bamboo connected with her body. The blows never landed in the same place twice and they were in no way regular, leaving her wondering when and where the next one would come from. The anticipation was almost as awful as the blows.

There was a long pause, longer than any that had occurred between blows before, and Brennan opened her eyes, unsure of when she had closed them. Charlie had leaned the staff against the wall and was approaching the hook where he had looped the other end of the chain that was hooked to her handcuffs.

"No," she whispered hoarsely, realizing what was about to happen. She briefly struggled against the handcuffs and then attempted to step through her arms so that her wrists were in front of her but she only managed to stumble and she fell in an exhausted heap on the floor. She heard Charlie's harsh laughter but couldn't summon any anger towards him. She could only think of one person and she swallowed tears of regret as she did.

She shut out the clanking sound of the chain as Charlie loosed it from the wall and used the last of her energy to whisper, "Seeley, I want to… thank you. Thank you for pulling me out of that lab and for caring and for… everything. It meant so much to me. You mean so much to me. You're my…"

Her words were cut off when a new pain shot through her arms as Charlie pulled the chain down towards him, wrenching Brennan's arms and the rest of her body up off the floor.

"I told you no goodbyes," Booth whispered harshly in her earpiece.

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_Sorry guys, I had to stop there, it was the best place to break it up. Don't worry, we're getting closer to some resolution now. So, did you love it, hate it, deeply desire for me to write the world's biggest chapter so that you don't have to deal with any more cliffhangers? Any deeply insightful suggestions or comments? To do any or all of the above you know what button to push._


	14. Damned Damsel

If there were an award for the best reviewers, you guys would totally win. A huge thank you to each and every one of you. And I hate to disappoint but unfortunately this will not be the world's biggest chapter despite your MANY requests for one. Sorry. But enjoy!

P.S. Congrats on breaking the 300 mark!

Disclaimer: Never, ever, ever will be mine. Just borrowing.

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**Ch. 14 – Damned Damsel**

Brennan's breathing was heavy in his ear as Booth silently crept up the small slope towards the barn. His own breathing was even and inaudible but his heart was pounding in his ears. He skirted around the edge of one corner of the barn towards the open door that spilled a pool of yellow light out onto the bare patch of grass outside. Crouching down so that he would be harder to see, Booth crawled forward. Shaking away the image of a defenseless Bones just waiting for something to happen, he continued to move forward. Brennan's breath was harshly uneven in his ear. Something was wrong. Reaching the edge of the doorframe, Booth quickly peeked his head around the corner and then pulled it back.

The sight within made his blood run cold. Brennan was standing unsteadily in the center of the room, her cuffed hands pulled up behind her back near the base of her neck. The chain attached to her cuffs reached up into the dark depths of the rafters and then descended back down into Charlie's hands. Booth knew that the position would be unbelievably uncomfortable, even painful in Brennan's condition, but that it would reach a whole new level of agony if the chain was pulled again. Leaning his head against the rough wood at his back, he stared unseeingly at the vista of stars above him as he concocted a plan.

Brennan was wavering on her feet. She couldn't remember how long she'd been in this horrible barn. It felt like weeks. Her escapades in the fraternity house could have been years ago. All she wanted to do was free her arms and then curl up in a small ball and sleep. But she resisted the urges of her body, ignored the pain coursing through the nerves of her arms and glared at Charlie who was standing near the wall wearing a smile that verged on the psychotic. The bastard was enjoying every second of this. His gaze connected with hers and his smile widened as he slowly pulled the chain downwards.

Her arms moved slowly upwards until the pain became too much and Brennan was forced to cry out. As she did so, Charlie laughed maniacally.

The cry of pain Brennan had uttered penetrated through the wall and pierced Booth's soul. The laughter that followed fueled his fury. He cocked his gun and stalked into the barn.

Brennan had closed her eyes against the pain, attempting to block out the sight of Charlie with sick glee in his eyes. His laughter filled her ears and she felt darkness approaching her. Was she going to pass out? Struggling against her body's reaction to everything she'd suffered, she barely heard the sharp retort of the gun but she recognized that Charlie's laughter had morphed into cries of pain. Simultaneously, her arms fell back down towards the small of her back, the heavy chain now weighing them down. Forcing her eyes open, she watched disbelievingly as Booth approached Charlie, his gun still aimed at the man. As Booth pulled his handcuffs out, Brennan collapsed to her knees and stared vacantly at the two men, tears seeping out of the corner of her eyes.

Having cuffed the sick bastard to one of the beams that supported the hayloft, Booth resisted the urge to pummel him into the ground and instead snatched up his keys that had fallen to the ground. He flipped through them until he found a small silver key that he knew would unclasp the cuffs that bound Brennan.

He hurried across the floor towards his partner who didn't quite seem to see him. Crouching down behind her, he undid the handcuffs. She absently moved her hands around to rest on her lap, her gaze still distant. Booth walked around her and crouched down so that they were face to face. She stared at him, her face disbelieving and said nothing. He was suddenly desperately afraid that the trauma she had suffered had damaged her in a way that he couldn't fix.

"Bones?" he asked softly, his voice cracking as he reached out with one finger and gently stroked her jaw.

Her eyes suddenly snapped to life and focused on to him.

"Booth!" she exclaimed as she forcefully threw herself at him, her arms going about his neck. Knocked off balance, Booth sat down on the cool cement floor of the barn, holding his now sobbing partner in his embrace. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Her tears seeped through the fabric of his t-shirt, wetting his skin, but he barely noticed. She was here, she was alive, and she was with him. He released a deep breath and then chuckled roughly when he heard the distant whine of a siren.

"The cavalry is coming," he whispered near Brennan's ear.

"Booth, I hate to disappoint you but the majority of cavalry units in Virginia disbanded in approximately 1865," Brennan said, her voice muffled by his shirt.

His chest rumbled with laughter, "That's my girl."

"Booth…"

"Don't argue with me, Bones. You've had to fight enough tonight. We can fight later. Just let it go."

"I wasn't going to argue."

"Really?" Booth said pulling back slightly and quirking an eyebrow at the woman in his lap.

"Really. I was just going to say that I don't feel like having Chinese food tonight."

"Where did that come from?"

"Well, you said we'd go back to being Bones and Booth after this and seeing as we've caught the bad guy the next logical step would be Chinese food but I'm not really that hungry right now."

Booth smiled and then pulled Brennan back towards him.

"I'm glad you're… here," he said roughly, moisture pricking the backs of his eyes.

"Me too," Brennan whispered.

They clung silently to each other for a long moment until the flashing red and blue lights were visible between the boards of the walls. Squeezing Brennan once more, Booth pulled back and stood up. She attempted to do the same but collapsed back on the ground, weariness suddenly apparent in her every pore. Without saying a word, Booth reached down and placing one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back lifted her up off the ground.

"Booth! Put me down!" she protested but exhaustion was evident in her voice.

"What did I say about arguing?" Booth shot back lightly.

"I am not some damned damsel-in-distress for you to cart off to your noble steed."

"Ok, first of all, you have never been anything close to a damsel-in-distress. A woman with a propensity for getting into trouble would more accurately describe you. Second, I do not own a horse. They're not typically amongst the standard-issue equipment the FBI offers. I am carting you off to the paramedics, whom I imagine Clark sent along with the back-up team. And I know you won't argue that you don't need medical attention."

Brennan gave no other response than resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Good girl," he murmured as he strode out into the open air.

"Agent Booth!" a young agent shouted, practically running to him.

"Hang on a minute," Booth cut him off, "I'm taking her to the medics, then we can talk."

The agent shut his mouth slowly and nodded, pointing towards the white and red ambulance behind the circle of FBI Suburbans. Booth approached the two men in white who had pulled out a folding gurney. Setting Brennan down on it, he briefly conferred with the men and then turned to his partner.

"Bones?"

She turned to face him, her eyes slightly glazed but aware, "Hmm?"

"I have to go talk to some people but these guys are going to check you over and see how you're doing. I'll be right over there," he said and pointed to a point just inside the semi-circle of Suburbans where two agents were now escorting Charlie towards a vehicle, his left wrist still bleeding from where Booth had shot him.

"Ok," she said tiredly, weaving back and forth as she sat.

"Ok," he said, smiling at her and then turning back to the young agent who had tagged along after them.

"What's up, Agent…?"

"Norton," the young man supplied, peering questioningly around Booth to stare at Brennan.

"What's up, Agent Norton?" Booth repeated.

"I was just wondering who you're sending with Dr. Brennan to debrief her, because I'd be very willing…"

"No one is debriefing Dr. Brennan tonight," Booth cut off Norton.

"But sir," the younger agent protested.

"No buts, Norton. Dr. Brennan has been through hell tonight. She can barely form a coherent sentence at the moment and you want to debrief her? Where's your sensitivity, man?" Booth barked harshly, glaring at the agent who wilted under his gaze.

"Agent Booth?" one of the paramedics said as he approached.

"Yes?" Booth said as he turned, worry suddenly creasing his brow.

"We want to take her to the hospital for more thorough testing, make sure she didn't break any bones and that there's no internal bleeding from her beating."

Booth nodded and then walked back towards his partner who was now lying down on the gurney.

"Bones?" he said gently.

"Yeah," she replied, her blue-green eyes staring back up at him.

"The paramedics are going to take you to the hospital."

"They told me," Brennan said, her eyes sliding closed. "Are you coming with me?"

"I would but they need to debrief me back at FBI headquarters. I'll make sure Angela meets you there and takes you home, ok?"

"'Kay," Brennan replied sleepily.

"I'll see you later, Temperance," Booth said, as he went back towards Agent Norton.

"Booth?" she called out behind him, causing him to turn.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I… said goodbye."

"Yeah. I'll let it slip. This time."

Brennan smiled as the paramedics lifted her up into the back of the ambulance. She was still smiling at him when they closed the doors.

* * *

Brennan sipped the coffee that Angela had brought her, ignoring the shooting pain lifting her arm caused her. She was seated on a large white hospital bed, clad in a hospital gown.

"Remind me what we're waiting for again?" Angela asked tiredly from her seat next to her best friend.

"The MRI and X-ray results. I don't know why they did X-rays. I could have told them that I don't have any broken bones."

"Sweetie, you did tell them. And me. In fact, you told me that you merely had cuts on your wrists, a scratch on your head, and multiple bruises and contusions all over your body. Plus very sore arms. But otherwise you're fine."

"I am fine," Brennan shot back fiercely, the caffeine having giving her a new rush of energy, which she greatly appreciated.

"I'd have to concur," a new female voice chimed in from the doorway.

"Dr. Cochrane," Brennan said, issuing a sigh of relief at the sight of the woman in the white lab coat.

"Both your MRI and X-rays came back clean. You're free to go home, Dr. Brennan. Although I would prefer if you didn't drive for a few days until the muscles in your arms aren't so sore."

"Thank you, doctor," Angela said, standing up and grabbing the bag of clothes she had brought with her. "C'mon, sweetie, you can sleep at my place tonight. Or at least for what's left of tonight," Angela amended after glancing at her watch.

Reaching for the bag, Brennan tugged at the zipper, removed a shirt, and pulled it on. When her head emerged, she said, "Actually, Ange, I was hoping you could do me one more favor tonight."

* * *

Booth stretched as he stood up from his chair, his back audibly popping. Deputy Director Cullen had finished personally debriefing him over an hour and a half ago but he'd returned to his office to begin his official written report, too wired to return home. He also knew that if he tried to go to sleep now his dreams would be haunted by the images of Brennan hanging from her wrists by a chain in that barn. Staring at his watch he blearily followed its hands as they moved closer towards four a.m. It was definitely time to go home. Cullen had given him the next two days off and he planned to use them.

Grabbing his jacket that he'd hung on the back of his chair, Booth flipped off the lights and closed the door to his office. Walking through the maze of cubicles he strode down the hallway and then stopped abruptly a few feet from the elevator. He blinked slowly to assure himself that his eyes weren't deceiving him.

"Hey Booth," Brennan said, rising from her seat on the bench near the elevator and walking towards him.

* * *

_Ok, so I'm addicted to writing cliffhangers but this one isn't THAT evil. So did you love it, hate it, feel ambivalent towards it? Do want to make suggestions like Zach and Jack should spitballs at Clark until he dies? To do any or all of the above, you know the drill._


	15. Good Night and Good Morning

As always, many, many, many thanks for your wonderful reviews. Apologies for not updating sooner, it took my muse a bit to get her act together and then that pesky thing called work interfered.

Disclaimer: I like to borrow things that aren't mine and play with them. I promise to put them back where I found them when I'm done.

* * *

**Ch. 15 – Good Night and Good Morning**

Brennan gazed expectantly at her partner, expecting a response. Instead he stared at her mutely, his gaze roving over her body, taking in the wide white bandages wrapped around her wrists, the small band-aid on her forehead, and the many bruises that were visible on her exposed skin. She watched his jaw tighten in anger as his piercing gaze moved up her neck, lighting on the blackening bruise on her jaw before he met her eyes. She expected to see guilt and anger in their dark depths but was instead met with concern and behind that something else she couldn't label.

"Bones, what are you doing here? It almost four in the morning," Booth said, fatigue heavy in his voice as he walked past her and pressed the button for the elevator.

"I came for my debriefing," Brennan replied, joining him at the elevator.

"Debriefing?" Booth turned to her and she saw a brief flicker of anger cross his face, "Who brought you in? Norton? I'm going to make him wish…"

"Don't make him wish anything," Brennan interrupted, "Angela dropped me off. Actually, first she protested the entire drive here and then dropped me off. I talked to Deputy Director Cullen."

The elevator announced its presence with a ding and then the doors slid open heavily. Booth strode in and leaned against the wall. Brennan joined him and mirrored his posture. She closed her eyes for a moment and Booth watched as pain and exhaustion overwhelmed her expression but they both quickly disappeared when she re-opened her eyes and returned his gaze.

"You talked to Cullen?" Booth asked.

"Yes, I wanted to get it out of the way. I have every intention of sleeping through the week that Dr. Goodman insisted I take off. I do still have my written statement to do but it can wait."

"Yeah, it can wait," Booth agreed quietly as he led the way out of the elevator and down the hall. He nodded at the night security guard at the entrance and opened the door for Brennan. Placing a hand on the small of her back, he guided his partner to his SUV, held the door for her as she clambered inside and then closed it behind her.

They were waiting at an intersection when Booth spoke again.

"Bones, why did you really come?"

"I wanted to… thank you. For everything. Everything you did, everything you said, just… everything."

"You're welcome, Temperance," Booth said softly, glancing at his partner out of the corner of his eye, "But you do know that thanks are really unnecessary."

"I wanted to say it anyway. Gratitude is important."

Booth smiled gently and spun the wheel, as he turned left.

"Booth, I also… I wanted to know and I didn't ask Cullen because I didn't think he'd tell me, considering everything I've been through tonight but…"

"Bones, just spit out."

"Why did he do it? Why did Charlie kill all those women? Who could do such a thing?"

"Charles Vargas could do such a thing. And according to his initial statement to the agents at the scene, he killed those women to save them."

"Save them from what?"

"From becoming like the woman that broke up his family. His father owned a car dealership and had a seemingly happy marriage. But he liked to visit the local strip club on the weekends. Apparently Vargas senior ended up in a relationship with one of the young women from the club. He left his wife and his thirteen-year-old son, Charlie. The stripper ended up stealing Vargas' money and left him. He lost his dealership and lived in a homeless shelter off-and-on for three years. He died of exposure during a cold snap in January; four years after the stripper had left him. Charles had a picture of the woman in his wallet. Want to guess what she looked like?"

"Young, red hair, green eyes," Brennan supplied.

"You got it. Charles seemed to think that the woman who had broken up his parents' marriage was somehow living inside of each of the women he killed, like some strange form of reincarnation. He's got a good chance of succeeding if he uses the insanity plea."

"It's unfortunate what the mistakes of the parents can do to the children," Brennan said quietly.

"Sometimes it's not so unfortunate," Booth said quietly, "sometimes it makes them better."

Brennan mulled over Booth's words for the rest of the drive and was surprised when they stopped. Looking around her, she vaguely recognized her surroundings.

"Booth, this is not my apartment building."

"I know that, Bones."

"This is _your _apartment building."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Booth muttered, sliding out of the vehicle.

"Captain who?" Brennan demanded as she followed Booth up the sidewalk towards the front door

"Don't worry about it, Bones," Booth said tiredly as he unlocked the door and strode inside.

"Booth, why are we here?"

"Because I'm tired. I do not want to drive to your apartment tonight. In fact, I'm not quite sure I could find your apartment right now. You can crash here tonight and I'll drive you home tomorrow," Booth said, as he punched the up button for the elevator.

"That's logical," Brennan stated and strode into the elevator ahead of Booth.

"I'm sorry, did you just say that one of my ideas was logical?" Booth asked teasingly.

"It happens," Brennan said, a faint smile crossing her lips.

The elevator doors slid open sluggishly on Booth's floor and he led the way to his apartment door, opening it and gesturing for Brennan to go in ahead of him. Brennan stepped inside and watched Booth as he dropped his keys in a bowl on the half-wall by the door and flipped on the lights. He wandered into the kitchen and opened his fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. Brennan remained close to the door, her hands wrapped tightly around the strap of the bag that Angela had brought her. She was suddenly and absurdly nervous. Booth had been in her apartment several times and she doubted he'd ever felt this nervous, why should she?

"Bones?" Booth asked, attempting to hide a smile, "Do you maybe want to come in a little bit further?"

Brennan smiled tightly and nodded.

Booth watched the suddenly awkward forensic anthropologist as she stepped further into his apartment and studied her surroundings. He followed her gaze and let his eyes wander with pride over his well-stocked kitchen and comfortable living area complete with the black leather couches he'd just finished paying off. Feeling his weariness wash over him again, he finished his bottle of water and approached his partner.

"C'mon, I need to take a shower but you can go to sleep now if you want," he said, as he led the way down the short hall towards his bedroom. They passed the open door to Parker's room, toy cars strewn across the floor and glow-in-the-dark stars plastered to the ceiling. Stepping inside his room, Booth was suddenly nervous. Although he'd had several unprofessional daydreams about Brennan being in his bedroom, he'd never thought it would ever actually happen.

Brennan studied Booth's bedroom and decided that it was exactly how she would have pictured the space. The walls were a pale gray that made the dark wood furniture stand out. A large, king-size bed dominated the room with a small table beside it where a picture of a Parker stood and a few books were stacked. Directly opposite the bed was a bureau with a large TV resting on top. The closet doors were closed tightly next to the bureau. Next to the large window that dominated the wall opposite her was a lounge chair. Adjacent to the door they had just entered was another door that led into the private bathroom.

"So you can sleep here for now," Booth said, indicating the bed.

"Actually, I'm not really tired," Brennan said.

"Really?" Booth asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, the combination of caffeine and painkillers has left me a little wired."

Booth chuckled silently, "Ok, well, I'm going to go take a quick shower. You can watch TV and feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen."

Brennan nodded, setting her bag down by the foot of the bed. Booth watched her for another brief moment and then stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Staring at his reflection in the mirror he let out a deep breath. He needed to relax. He pulled off his t-shirt and was about to shoot it into the laundry basket when he spotted the dark stains on the back. Flattening it out, he realized that it was blood. Brennan's blood. Most likely from the cuts on her wrists caused by the too-tight handcuffs. Staring at the stains he realized for the 179th time that night just how close he'd come to losing her. Closing his eyes, he said a brief prayer of thanks, and then got into the shower. He needed to sleep.

* * *

Booth opened the bathroom door and a wide smile creased his face. Brennan was sitting on his bed, her back against the headboard. She was wearing a ragged and loose t-shirt that had Dartmouth emblazoned across the front and a pair of blue, flannel boxer shorts. His gut twisted at the multiple dark purple bruises and angry red welts that were scattered across the length of her exposed legs. Hearing a faint crunching sound, he smiled again at how innocent his partner could be. A yellow bag of Teddy Grahams rested in her lap, and she reached into it, pulling out a few of the small cookies and popped them in her mouth. She was absorbedly watching an episode of "I Dream of Jeannie" on his TV and she smiled when Jeannie blinked out in a huff, leaving Major Nelson wandering around his cramped office calling out Jeannie's name until Roger arrived to ask what was wrong. 

"Teddy Grahams, Bones?"

Brennan started at the unexpected voice of her partner and turned to face him. He was wearing a white t-shirt and pale blue pajama bottoms and his hair was damp. Unbidden, the thought crossed her mind of just how attractive her partner really was. Shaking her head, she realized that she hadn't answered his question.

"You said I could have anything that was in the kitchen. I used to love these when I was younger and when I saw the bag in the cupboard I wanted to determine if they were still as delicious as I remembered. They are."

"Parker would agree," Booth said with a smile.

Brennan was about to respond but yawned widely instead.

"Ok, time for you and I to get some sleep," Booth said sternly.

Brennan nodded.

"I am tired now. I'll just put these away," she said, hoisting up the bag of bear-shaped cookies.

Booth watched her slide to the edge of the bed and swing her legs down towards the floor. She winced as one of the bruises on the back of her leg banged against the bed frame. Realizing that his partner was in no shape to sit never mind stand and walk around, he snatched the yellow bag from her hand.

"I'll put these away. You get comfortable," he said lightly.

When Booth returned from the kitchen he stood in the bedroom doorway frowning.

"Bones, what are you doing?"

"Getting comfortable," she replied as she settled down into the lounge chair in the corner.

"Temperance, get into the bed. You are in no condition to be sleeping in a chair," Booth said, a hint of concern in his voice.

"But it's your bed," she protested weakly.

"Thus, I get to decide who sleeps in it. Now go lie down," he ordered.

"I am not sleeping in that bed if it means you have to sleep in this chair," Brennan argued. "You've had just as hard a day as I have and you deserve a good night's sleep. In a bed."

"Yet another impasse," Booth said, wearily, "You won't sleep in the bed if it means I sleep in the chair and I definitely will not let you sleep in the chair."

"We could share the bed," Brennan suggested hesitantly. Seeing a sly grin cross the FBI agent's face, she hurriedly continued on, "It is a large bed and we could easily share it without anything inappropriate happening."

Booth let the opportunity to tease his partner to pass. The offer to share the bed was hard for her, he knew, and so instead he took the offer in the way she had intended it.

"Sharing the bed seems logical," he said seriously and offered her a balancing hand as she stood up from the chair. They both approached opposite sides of the bed and crawled in, two feet of space between them.

"Good night, Booth," Brennan said, her voice already breathy with sleep.

"Good night, Temperance," he whispered to her back and turned off the light.

* * *

Brennan awoke slowly and yawned. For a moment she couldn't remember where she was, but when she buried her head in the pillow and the familiar masculine scent overwhelmed her senses, she suddenly recalled all the events of the past twenty-four hours. Her body ached and as she turned her head to gaze at the glaring red numbers on Booth's clock that read 2:00 p.m. she was suddenly aware of another sensation on her body. 

The loose t-shirt she was wearing had crept up during her sleep, leaving an expanse of her bare stomach exposed. Booth's arms were wrapped around it. The sensation of his large, warm hand spread over her skin caused a shiver to run up and down her spine that she attempted to ignore. Despite the huge amount of space that had separated them when they'd gone to sleep, they had somehow managed to become intertwined during the night Brennan noted, attempting to be detached about the fact that her partner's arms were wrapped around her and her right ankle was resting on his right calf.

His steady breathing in her left ear suddenly altered, alerting her to the fact that he was slowly awakening. Her eyes widened in surprise when as he awoke he pulled her closer to him and buried his face in her hair.

Booth smiled sleepily. Bones was safe and she was right here in his bed and his arms were wrapped around her. Booth's eyes snapped open at the realization of just how close he was to his partner. His muscles tightened involuntarily in anticipation of the pain he would soon be suffering at her hands.

"Booth?" Brennan asked uncertainly, as she felt the muscles in the arm on her waist go taut.

"Good morning, Bones," Booth said, attempting normalcy.

"You're arms are around my waist."

"Always one for stating the obvious, Bones. How much trouble am I in for?"

Brennan thought for a moment, evaluating the level of pain in all of her muscles and then replied, "None."

Booth's muscles immediately relaxed but he still did not remove his arms. Bones attempted to ignore the ripple of pleasure that passed through her at the idea that he wanted to hold onto her.

"None?" he asked.

"I could give you a rain check, but at the moment I don't even want to think about throwing a punch never mind actually doing it."

"You're pretty sore then?"

"Sore doesn't begin to describe it," Brennan said with a sigh and closed her eyes.

Booth's thumb began to trace soothing circles just below her rib and above her hip. The sensation was… odd Brennan decided and in an effort to distract herself from the sensations he was causing, she continued talking.

"Booth?"

"Yes, Bones?"

"Are you trying to police a feel?"

Booth chuckled and she felt the vibrations of his chest on her back as he spoke.

"It's 'cop a feel', Bones, and I would never do that without a warrant. Unless youinvited me to," he added teasingly.

"Uh… no," Brennan stuttered, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

Booth smiled at the flustered forensic anthropologist but decided that he'd pushed their boundaries far enough.

"How about I make you breakfast before I drive you home?" he offered as he pulled away from her and slid out of bed. She sat up and smiled at him.

"Breakfast sounds good."

_

* * *

We're almost done. One more chapter after this to tie up the last of the loose ends. So what did you think of this one? Loved it, hated it, skimmed through it? Want to make suggestions for that last chapter? You know what button to push. _


	16. All's Well

Thank you again for all of your lovely reviews. They were greatly appreciated. See the end for a longer author's note.

Disclaimer: They're not mine, they never have been, and I fear that they never will be. sigh.

* * *

**Epilogue – All's Well…**

Booth flashed his badge at the security guard standing outside of the thick metal door with the flashing red light above it. The guard briefly scrutinized both Booth and his badge and opened the door quietly, directly disobeying the sign on the door that read, "When red light flashing, DO NOT ENTER. Shooting in progress."

Booth passed through the dark section of the film studio, carefully stepping over wires and dodging grips and cameramen. Seeing a bank of TV monitors, he made a beeline for them. Standing behind the small group that was monitoring the screens, he watched and listened to the one woman on camera that was the reason for his presence.

"Penny was very gracious and consulted me on both the forensic aspects of the script as well as the dialogue itself," Brennan replied, answering the question of the dark-haired, male reporter sitting across from her.

"What did you think of the casting choice of Julianne Moore to portray Kathy? Do you feel that she suits the role? Does she measure up to what you had in mind when you created the character?"

"I think Julianne is doing a wonderful job as Kathy, she fits into the role like a glove from what I've seen while on set during shooting. As for measuring up to what I had in my mind when I created the character, I think it's hard to say. The way you imagine a character when putting he or she on the page is somewhat nebulous. And once your book is in the hands of the readers, your image of the character and the reader's image of the character may vary greatly. But for my own part, Julianne does have some similarities in appearance to how I pictured Kathy."

"It might also be noted, Dr. Brennan, that you also bear some physical similarities to Julianne Moore. Do you think that was intentional on the part of the casting director?"

"I really don't know. I wasn't involved in casting. Just consultations on the script. And I wrote the book, which I suppose might be the most important part for this project."

"I would have to agree. We're just about out of time, so thank you, Dr. Brennan for coming to talk about Bred in the Bone which should be in theatres by January of next year."

"Thanks, James," Brennan replied, using the smile she had worn for the photo on the dust jacket of her book.

A shrill alarm went off and both Brennan and the interviewer, James, stood up from the chairs where they had been seated. Brennan shook his hand, removed her lapel mike and stepped down off the raised stage, headed for the bank of TV monitors where she had just spotted her FBI partner.

Booth watched Brennan stride confidently towards him appreciatively. The outfit she wore was typical for Brennan, except for the boots. The boots he recognized from the striptease adventure of just over a week ago and despite everything they'd been through that night, the memory of her walking down the stairs was still oddly alluring for him.

"Morning, Bones."

"Booth! What are you doing here? And on a Sunday."

"Well, I phoned your house and you weren't there. Then I phoned your office and you weren't there. I phoned your cell phone but it was turned off. I must say you're very impressive when it comes to being unreachable. I ended up calling Angela and she told me you had an interview here today. How come you didn't tell me that they had started filming on your movie?"

"It's not my movie, it's simply based on my book. And I didn't tell you because seeing as you've taken up the position of my stalker you'd have figured it out on your own," Brennan said with a teasing smile.

Booth smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"What was so important that you made all those phone calls and then came all the way over here to tell me in person?"

"Some good news. Or at least I think it's good news. For you it might just be interesting."

"Well, now you've piqued my curiosity. What's the news?"

"I just came from Clark's disciplinary hearing," Booth began. "He's still got that black eye from where Angela punched him," he said with a chuckl. Then he cocked his head and without warning changed subjects.

"Hey, speaking of bruises, what happened to the one on your jaw? It was still pretty vivid when I saw you on Friday at Sid's."

"A very skilled make-up artist happened to it. The director didn't think it was good TV if I was filmed when I look like," she paused trying to remember his words, "a human punching bag."

Booth quirked an eyebrow at the words, and realized that unfortunately it did describe his partner's appearance lately. She was still peppered with bruises, some still purple, while many had begun to fade to green and yellow, and for the most part, she refused to cover them. It was simply the body healing itself and nothing to be ashamed of, she had told him. She didn't realize the pain that tore through his gut every time he glimpsed one.

"You were at Clark's disciplinary hearing," Brennan prompted, forcing Booth out of his reverie.

"Yes, they had me give a statement on what I perceived to be the professionalism of his performance. I was also there to give an impact statement on your behalf."

"The FBI couldn't ask me to give my own impact statement?" Brennan asked, her brows furrowing in a manner that meant a lecture was brewing on the horizon.

"I wanted you to give it yourself," Booth rushed on hurriedly, relieved when the crease between her brows disappeared, "but Cullen wanted to keep the hearing internal. As your partner, I was the next best thing."

"Fine. What was the result of the hearing?" Brennan asked.

"They took away his status as a field agent. And then they took away his badge. He's no longer a member of the FBI. And if an agent requires his expertise they must get approval from the director and Clark will be under supervision for the duration that his services are required."

Brennan blinked, "Harsh punishment."

Booth snorted, "I was hoping for worse."

"How much worse could it get?"

"Public flogging," Booth suggested, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards to indicate that he was joking. Internally he contemplated just how much he'd enjoy having punched the agent just once. Unfortunately, Angela would be the only one with that particular privilege.

"Well, I should head over to the lab," Brennan said.

"Bones, you're working today?" Booth asked, concern suddenly clouding his face as well as frustration that his partner could not enjoy being outside of that building for long periods of time.

"Yes. My forced vacation is officially over. I would have liked to have gone back to work three days ago when I was able to lift my arms above my head again. Dr. Goodman wouldn't let me."

"He's a good man that way. I'm certain that he intended for you to stay home today as well," Booth said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, I can't. I'm going stir crazy in my apartment and I've been dying to get my hands on the skeleton that arrived on Thursday from Tibet. Preliminary examinations suggest it to be a twelfth century monk. Very exciting," Brennan said, her eyes sparkling in the way they did whenever she was excited about a case. Booth smiled bemusedly.

"I'd love to try and argue with you and convince you to stay home but I'm getting Parker for the afternoon and I need to go pick him up soon."

"Big plans for the afternoon?"

"I was thinking of maybe visiting the aquarium, seeing as it's been cleared of skeletons now," Booth said, the question in his eyes of why she wanted to know.

"Why don't you bring him by the lab after you go to the aquarium?" Brennan asked hesitantly.

"Why?"

"I have a promise to fulfill," Brennan said with a smile and then headed out of the studio, leaving Booth to watch her stride out. Damn she looked hot in those boots.

* * *

Brennan frowned at her computer screen. Her editor had sent back her latest manuscript and asked for a bit more sexual tension between Kathy and her boyfriend and a bit less between Kathy and her partner from the FBI. Brennan had agreed with the comment but was struggling to actually fulfill the demand.

She was distracted from her dilemma when she heard a voice say, "Daddy, hurry up, I want to see Bones."

"Slow down, bub. And please call her Dr. Brennan, ok?"

"You don't call her that," Parker replied with the brute honesty that only a four-year-old could possess as he raced into Brennan's office ahead of his father.

Brennan smiled, "Hi Parker."

"Hi Bones," Parker asked, giving her a grin that reminded her of his father's charm smile.

Booth let out an exasperated sigh and opened his mouth to speak but Brennan beat him to it.

"Hey Parker, you know what?"

"What?"

"Your daddy calls me 'Bones' because it's his special name for me. Just like he calls you bub."

Parker nodded with understanding and then tilted his head to shoot her a questioning glance.

"Can I have a special name to call you?"

Brennan appeared thoughtful for a moment and then said, "Well, all my special friends call me Tempe so you could call me that too."

Parker nodded, satisfied.

Booth watched the exchange between his young son and his partner with a wide smile. For a moment he envied his son's ability to make the forensic anthropologist's barriers melt away, when he had had to work so hard to get to the point they were in their relationship.

"I've got a treat for you, Parker," Brennan said, pulling open a drawer of her desk and pulling out an object that caused Booth's smile to widen even further.

"A lollipop!" Parker exclaimed, grasping the confection on a stick from her outstretched hand.

"What do you say, Parker?" Booth prompted from the doorway.

"Thank you," Parker mumbled around the candy in his mouth.

Brennan attempted to hide a smile and looked up at a light rap on her door.

"Hey sweetie, I thought I'd find you in here," Angela said, wearing a wide grin at the sight she'd found inside her friend's office.

Recognizing the familiar glint in Angela's eyes, Brennan struggled to find something for her to do that would get her out of the room for a little while. She didn't want to deal with her friend's analysis of what was happening here just yet.

"Hey Ange," Booth said, saving Brennan from having to find an excuse, "could you watch Parker for a few minutes? I just want to talk to Bones really quickly."

"Sure," Angela said, her grin widening and she shot Brennan a look that meant she wanted to know everything later from behind Booth's back. Then she turned to Parker with an outstretched hand, "Hey Parker, how would like to come with me and we can draw some pictures?"

"Ok," Parker said and then waved goodbye to Brennan. "See ya later, Tempe," he called as he followed Angela out of the office.

Brennan waved goodbye to the small boy and then turned back to face the man who had sat down in the chair across from her desk. Booth watched in frustration as her guards visibly went back up. He'd been chipping away at the walls she'd built around herself and every once in a while he would catch a glimmer of the real woman behind the barriers and he treasured each glimpse he got but inwardly he wondered how long he'd need his pickaxe.

"That was sweet, Bones," he said softly.

"I made a promise and I'm not the type to break my promises."

"I know," Booth murmured gently, "which is why I need to ask you something."

"What?" Brennan asked, curiosity overwhelming her face.

"Never, ever go undercover again. I'm pretty sure I can't handle another case like this one," Booth said, an ironic smile on his face.

"You got it. I don't really feel that compelled to go undercover ever again either. But you were there when I needed you, so all's well…"

"Yeah," Booth agreed and then noticed that Brennan seemed uncomfortable. Apparently everything had gotten too close for comfort for her emotionally. Resisting the urge to sigh, he shifted in his seat and changed the subject.

"What you working on?" he asked, indicating her computer with a nod.

"Sexual tension."

"I'm sorry?" Booth said, flushing slightly.

"My editor wants me to reduce the sexual tension between Kathy and Andy. She says it detracts from the little sexual tension that's established between Kathy and her boyfriend."

Booth grinned.

"Are you saying that there's more attraction between the anthropologist and her partner than there is between her and her boyfriend?" Booth asked, his smile widening at the many implications.

"No."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure you just did."

"I did not, Booth."

"Sure," Booth said with a dismissive shrug. "So what contributes to the greater sexual tension between Kathy and Andy in this book? Does he see her naked or something?"

"Not exactly," Brennan said, turning back to her computer.

Booth groaned, "There's my favorite phrase again. What does it mean this time?"

"It means you'll have to wait until the book is published to find out what happens, just like everyone else."

"I'll be waiting longer than that," Booth muttered.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing. It better be worth the wait."

"It will be."

"From your lips…"

"What does that mean?"

Fin

* * *

_Well, that's it guys. Thank you to everyone who read and everyone who reviewed, I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I know many of you were hoping for more relationship development between Booth and Brennan but seeing as I'd placed between Soldier on the Grave and The Woman in Limbo I couldn't really go to far. Hope the fluff-ish ending was enough for you. I do have plans for another Bones fic that should appear in the next couple days and I'd love to invite you to check it out (shameless pitch). I'd also adore it if you gave me one last review to let me know what you thought of this chapter. And if you've been reading all along and haven't commented yet, here's your chance. You know which button to push. Thanks again._

_-Micky_


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